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Anne kissed her friend. "Oh, Jinny, I saw what you were doing for one of our men. What am I saying?" she cried. "They are your men, too. This horrible war cannot last. It cannot last. It was well that Virginia did not see the smile on the face of the commanding general when Mr. Brinsmade at length got to him with her request.
A sigh shook Silas Whipple's wasted frame, and he died. Mr. Brinsmade and the Doctor were the first to leave the little room where Silas Whipple had lived and worked and died, Mr. Brinsmade bent upon one of those errands which claimed him at all times. He took Shadrach with him. Virginia sat on, a vague fear haunting her, a fear for her father's safety. Where was Clarence? What had he seen?
"We've got to keep the pace, Lige." To gentle Miss Anne Brinsmade, to Puss Russell of the mischievous eyes, and even to timid Eugenie Renault, the question that burned was: Would he come, or would he not? And, secondarily, how would Virginia treat him if he came? Put our friend Stephen for the subjective, and Miss Carvers party for the objective in the above, and we have the clew.
His bright uniform was creased and soiled and muddy, his face unshaven, and dark rings of weariness under his eyes. "Do you know if Clarence Colfax has gone home?" Mr. Brinsmade inquired. "Clarence is an idiot," cried George, ill-naturedly. "Mr. Brinsmade, of all the prisoners here, he refused to take the parole, or the oath of allegiance.
She would not have it thought that she came for other reasons. "My aunt is in such a state of worry over Clarence that I came to ask you if you thought the news true, that the prisoners are to be paroled. She thinks it is a " Virginia flushed, and bit a rebellious tongue. "She does not believe it." Even good Mr. Brinsmade smiled at the slip she had nearly made.
For Stephen helped in the work of the Sanitary Commission too, and so strove to make up in zeal for the service in the field which he longed to give. After Christmas Mr. and Mrs. Brinsmade moved out to their place on the Bellefontaine Road. This was to force Anne to take a rest.
Toward the end of that week, Miss Virginia Carvel was sitting with her back to one of the great trees at Monticello reading a letter. Every once in a while she tucked it under her cloak and glanced hastily around. It was from Miss Anne Brinsmade. "I have told you all about the excursion, my dear, and how we missed you. Stephen Brice, whom we used to speak of.
I meant to tell you about a gentleman we met in the street car, a Major Sherman who used to be in the army. Mr. Brinsmade knows him, and Judge Whipple, and many other prominent men here. He came to St. Louis some months ago to take the position of president of the Fifth Street Line. He is the keenest, the most original man I have ever met.
"Why, honey, I'll ask Brinsmade if you like," said the Colonel. "Here he comes now, and Anne." It was Virginia who put the question to him. "My dear," replied that gentleman, patting her, "I would do anything in the world for you. I'll see General Fremont this very afternoon. Virginia," he added, soberly, "it is such acts as yours to-day that give us courage to live in these times."
And Stephen," she added more earnestly, "I am not sure but what he is right." Then Stephen laughed. And for a long time he sat staring into the fire. "What else did he say?" he asked, after a while. "He told me about a little house which we might rent very cheaply. Too cheaply, it seems. The house is on this street, next door to Mr. Brinsmade, to whom it belongs. And Mr.
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