“Yes, I think so,” said the colonel; “I think so,”—­and again observant he saw the slight figure straighten and a quite other look of tender sadness come upon his face.

“How quiet they are—­how very quiet!” Then he laughed merrily.  “See that dog on the Emmitsburg road.  He doesn’t know which side he’s on.”

Penhallow looked at his watch.  “It is one o’clock.”  Then his glass was up.  “Ah!” he exclaimed, as he closed it, “now we shall catch it.  I thought as much.”

A mile away, far on Lee’s right, on the low ridge in front of his position, a flash of light was seen.  As the round ring of smoke shot out from the cannon, the colonel remembered the little Leila’s delight when he blew smoke rings as they sat on the porch.  Instantly a second gun spoke.  The two shells flew over our line and lit far to the rear, while at once along Lee’s position a hundred and fifty guns rang out and were instantly answered by our own artillery from Round Top to Cemetery Hill.  General Hunt beside him replying to the quick questions he put, said, “We could not place over seventy-five guns—­not room enough.”

“Is that all?  They are distributing their favours along our whole front.”

At once a vast shroud of smoke rose and hid both lines, while out of it flew countless shell and roundshot.  At first most of the Confederate missiles flew high and fell far behind our Crest.  The two officers were coolly critical as they stood between the batteries.

“He must think our men are back of the guns like his own.  The wall and bushes hide them.”

“The fuses are too long,” said Hunt quietly.  “That’s better and worse,” he added, as a shell exploded near by and one of Woodruff’s guns went out of action and the ground was strewn with the dead and wounded.  “We shall want some of your guns.”

Penhallow went in haste to the rear.  What he saw was terrible.  The iron hail of shells fell fast around him on the wide open space or even as far away as the hospital tents.  On or near the Taneytown road terror-stricken wagon-drivers were flying, ammunition mules were torn to pieces or lying mangled; a shell exploded in a wagon,—­driver, horses and a load of bread were gone.  Horses lay about, dead or horribly torn; one horse hitched to a tree went on cropping grass.  Penhallow missed nothing.  He was in the mood peril always brought.  Men said he was a slow, sure thinker, and missed seeing things which did not interest him.  Now he was gay, tuned to the highest pitch of automatic watchfulness, as this far-sent storm of bursting shells went over and past the troops it was meant to destroy.  Hurrying through it he saw the wide slope clear rapidly of what was left of active life.  He laughed as a round shot knocked a knapsack off a man’s back.  The man unhurt did not stay to look for it.  Once the colonel dropped as a shell lit near him.  It did not explode.  He ejaculated, “Pshaw,” and went on.  He came near