Headquarters was an old corner house that had flung open its doors to General Jackson with an almost tremulous eagerness. A flag waved before the door, and there was a knot beneath of couriers and orderlies, with staff officers coming and going. Opposite was a store, closed of course upon Sunday, but boasting a deep porch with benches, to say nothing of convenient kegs and boxes. Here the village youth and age alike found business to detain them. The grey-headed exchanged remarks. "Sleep? No, I couldn't sleep! Might as well see what's to be seen! I ain't got long to see anything, and so I told Susan. When's he coming out?--Once't when I was a little shaver like Bob, sitting on the scales there, I went with my father in the stage-coach to Fredericksburg, I remember just as well--and I was sitting before the tavern on a man's knee,--old man 'twas, for he said he had fought the Indians,--and somebody came riding down the street, with two or three others. I jus' remember a blue coat and a cocked hat and that his hair was powdered--and the man put me down and got up, and everybody else before the tavern got up--and somebody holloaed out 'Hurrah for General Washington--'" There was a stir about the opposite door. An aide came out, mounted and rode off toward the bridge. An orderly brought a horse from the neighbouring stable. "That's his! That's General Jackson's!--Don't look like the war horse in Job, does he now?--Looks like a doctor's horse--Little Sorrel's his name." The small boy surged forward. "He's coming out!"--"How do you know him?"--"G' way! You always know generals when you see them! Great, big men, all trimmed up with gold. Besides, I saw him last night."--"You didn't!"--"Yes, I did! Saw his shadow on the curtain."--"How did you know 'twas his?"--"My mother said, 'Look, John, and don't never forget. That's Stonewall Jackson.' And it was a big shadow walking up and down, and it raised its hand--" The church bell rang. A chaplain came out of the house. He had a Bible in his hand, and he beamed on all around. "There's the first bell, gentlemen--the bell, children! Church in a church, just like before we went to fighting! Trust you'll all come, gentlemen, and you, too, boys! The general hopes you'll all come." Within headquarters, in a large bare room, Jackson was having his customary morning half-hour with his heads of departments--an invariably recurring period in his quiet and ordered existence. It was omitted only when he fought in the morning. He sat as usual, bolt upright, large feet squarely planted, large hands stiff at sides. On the table before him were his sabre and Bible. Before him stood a group of officers. The adjutant, Colonel Paxton, finished his report. The general nodded. "Good! good! Well, Major Harman?"