“Now,” he said, “eat slow and get the whole taste. It isn’t every day that we get a treat like this.” Joseph did his best to obey, but the greed of protracted hunger made short work with his morsel. Still he smacked his lips and made motions with his mouth, as if enjoying the treat long after it was devoured. “Now,” said Robert, “let’s build a bridge across the hearth; or a railroad, or something worth while.” “A bridge—a pontoon bridge, such as Anna told us of when father’s regiment crossed that river. Every oyster-shell shall be a boat, and the hearth shall be a river; and—and—but there comes Anna, walking so tired, I know it by her step. Open that other oyster, Robert, for she hasn’t tasted a mouthful since yesterday; be quick.” Robert seized his knife, and was using it vigorously when his sister Anna came in, pale, weary, and so dispirited, that the heaviness of utter despair seemed upon her. “Oh, grandmother! she is not at home. I have not been able to collect one cent. What shall we do?” The young girl flung herself on a chair by the table, and, covering her face, began to cry very noiselessly, but in the deep bitterness of distress. “Not one cent, grandma, and I worked so hard.” The old lady arose from her place by the window, where the sunset had kindled up her meek face like a picture, and went quietly up to the weeping girl. “Don’t cry, Anna,” she said, smoothing the hair back from her granddaughter’s forehead. “We have all had a little of something; and to-morrow will be a new day. I suppose the lady is busy about the fair.” “But I had depended on it so thoroughly,” sobbed the girl, looking drearily at the oyster-shells scattered on the hearth. “I had promised the boys _such_ a supper, and now all is emptiness; their poor, bare feet, how cold they look!” “But we are not cold, we rather like it,” cried Robert, forcing a laugh through the tears that quivered in his voice. “Arn’t we learning to be tough against the time that drummer-boys will be wanted?” Anna smiled so drearily that Robert had no heart to go on. The old lady bent over her granddaughter and asked, in a whisper, if any thing else had happened. Anna was not a girl to give way like that for a single disappointment, dark as the hour was for them; and the old woman knew it. “There has been a battle. Extras are out, but I had no money to buy one,” Anna replied, in a broken whisper. “He may be dead!” “No, no; don’t say that,” pleaded the old woman, retreating to her chair. “God help us! We could not bear it!”