On the morning of June 28 in this year 1863, Leila riding from the mills paused a minute to take note of the hillside burial-ground, dotted here and there with pitiful little linen flags, sole memorials of son or father—­the victims of war.  “One never can get away from it,” she murmured, and rode on into Westways.  Sitting in the saddle she waited patiently at the door of the post-office.  Mrs. Crocker was distributing letters and newspapers.  An old Quaker farmer was reading aloud on the pavement the latest news.

“There ain’t no list of killed and wounded,” he said.  Forgetful of the creed of his sect, his son was with the army.  He read, “The Rebels have got York—­that’s sure—­and Carlisle too.  They are near Harrisburg.”

“Oh, but we have burned the bridge over the Susquehanna,” said some one.

Another and younger man with his arm in a sling asked, “Are they only cavalry?”

“No, General Ewell is in command.  There are infantry.”

“Where is Lee?”

“I don’t make that out.”  They went away one by one, sharing the uneasiness felt in the great cities.

Leila called out, “Any letters, Mrs. Crocker?  This is bad news.”

“Here’s one for you—­it came in a letter to me.  I was to give it to you alone.”

Leila tore it open and read it.  “Any bad news, Leila?”

“Yes, Uncle James is with the army.  I should not have told you.  General Meade is in command.  Aunt Ann is not to know.  There will be a battle—­after that he will write—­after it.  Please not to mention where Uncle Jim is.  When is your nephew to be buried—­at the mills?”

“At eleven to-morrow.”

“I shall be there.  Aunt Ann will send flowers.  Poor boy! he has lingered long.”

“And he did so want to go back to the army.  You see, he was that weak he cried.  He was in the colour-guard and asked to have the flag hung on the wall.  Any news of our John?  I dreamed about him last night, only he had long curly locks—­like he used to have.”

“No, not a word.”

“Has Mr. Rivers got back?”

“No, he is still with the army.  You know, aunt sends him with money for the Sanitary.”

“Yes, the Sanitary Commission—­we all know.”

Leila turned homeward seeing the curly locks.  “Oh, to be a man now!” she murmured.  She was bearing the woman’s burden.

Mrs. Crocker called after her, “You forgot the papers.”

“Burn them,” said Leila.  “I have heard enough—­and more than enough, and Aunt Ann never reads them.”

Penhallow had found time to visit his home twice in the winter, but found there little to please him.  His wife was obviously feeling the varied strain of war, and Leila showed plainly that she too was suffering.  He returned to his work unhappy, a discontented and resolutely dutiful man, hard driven by a relentless superior.  Now, at last, the relief of action had come.