"I tell you, Cynthia, it _haunts_ me! I can't explain to you why, but I feel there is something we haven't discovered yet,--something we _ought_ to know. It isn't just 'idle curiosity' as Professor Marlow would call it! I never knew or heard of anything that went so--so _deep_ in me as this thing has. That poor, loving, proud mother, and her terrible misunderstanding with her splendid son!-- He was _right_, too, I can't help but think. But was she in the wrong? I suppose we can't judge about how people felt in those days. The whole thing is so different now,--all forgotten and forgiven! But I've read that the Confederates considered their cause almost a--a _religion_. So of course she would have felt the shock of what her son did, terribly. And think how he must have felt, too! "And then to lose his life, almost in the beginning! Perhaps he and his mother might have made it all up after the war was over, if he'd only lived. It's--it's the saddest thing I ever heard!" Cynthia had risen too, and they linked arms, strolling up and down the little orchard as they talked. "I feel exactly as you do about it, though I don't often speak of it," said Cynthia. "But, by the way, did it ever strike you that we might find it interesting to look over some of the books in that old library? Some of them looked very attractive to me. And even if it didn't lead to anything, at least it would be good fun to examine them. I love old books! Why not do it this afternoon?" "Just the thing!" agreed Joyce. "I've thought of that too, but we've never had much chance to do it, till now. This afternoon, right after lunch!" So the afternoon found them again in the dim, musty old library, illuminating the scene extravagantly with five candles. Three sides of the room were lined with book-shelves, reaching nearly to the ceiling. The girls surveyed the bewildering rows of books, puzzled where to begin. "Oh, come over here!" decided Joyce, choosing the side opposite the fireplace. "These big volumes look so interesting." She brushed the thick dust off their backs, revealing the titles. "Look!-- They're all alike, with red backs and mottled sides." She opened one curiously. "Why!--they're called 'Punch'! What a strange name! What kind of books can they be?" And then, on further examination,--"Oh! I see. It's a collection of English papers full of jokes and politics and that sort of thing. And this one is from way back in 1850 Why, Cynthia, these are the most _interesting_ things!--" But Cynthia had already extracted another volume and was absorbed in it, chuckling softly over the old-time humor. Joyce grouped the five candles on the floor and they sat down beside them, from time to time pulling out fresh volumes, reading aloud clever jokes to each other, and enjoying themselves immensely, utterly unconscious of the passing moments.