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"Stephen," said he, "of course you're going to the Brinsmade's." Stephen shook his head. "Why not?" said Tom, in surprise. "Haven't you a costume?" "Yes," he answered dubiously. "Why, then, you've got to come with me," says Tom, heartily. "It isn't too late, and they'll want you. I've a buggy, and I'm going to the Russells' to change my clothes. Come along!" Steven went.
The thought of one who might have accomplished what her father could not was in his head. She was at Monticello. Some three weeks later Mr. Brinsmade's buggy drew up at Mrs. Brice's door. The Brinsmade family had been for some time in the country. And frequently, when that gentleman was detained in town by business, he would stop at the little home for tea.
The music in the cabin came to an abrupt pause, and only the tumbling of waters through the planks of the great wheels broke the silence. They were both startled by laughter at their shoulders. There stood Miss Russell, the picture of merriment, her arm locked in Anne Brinsmade's. "It is the hour when all devout worshippers turn towards the East," she said.
Brinsmade's. Her face was troubled, as well it might be. The most alarming reports were cried up to her from the street, and she looked every moment for the black smoke of destruction to appear to the southward. Around her were gathered the Carvel servants, most of them crying, and imploring her not to leave them. And when Mrs.
Brinsmade's, when the day's duty was done, the young Union officers used to ride, and often there would be half a dozen of them to tea. That house, and other great houses on the Bellefontaine Road with which this history has no occasion to deal, were as homes to many a poor fellow who would never see home again.
"She's not long sighted, that's sure," replied Eliphalet, with emphasis. At dinner Stephen was tried still further. And it was then he made the determination to write for the newspapers in order to pay the rent on Mr. Brinsmade's house. Miss Carvel's coming-out party was the chief topic. "They do say the Colonel is to spend a sight of money on that ball," said Mrs. Abner Reed.
Perhaps," she cried, "perhaps he may be dead." And tears came into the girl's eyes. It was then that Virginia forgot Clarence. She drew Anne to the sofa and kissed her. "No, he is not dead," she said gently, but with a confidence in her voice of rare quality. "He is not dead, Anne dear, or you would have heard." Had she glanced up, she would have seen Mr. Brinsmade's eye upon her.
To the surprise of many good people, the Judge had recently formed another habit. At least once a week he would drop in at the little house on Olive Street next to Mr. Brinsmade's big one, which was shut up, and take tea with Mrs. Brice. Afterward he would sit on the little porch over the garden in the rear, or on the front steps, and watch the bob-tailed horse-cars go by.
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