“Yes,” returned her father, “for ’If two of you shall agree on earth, as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven’; and God’s promises are all ’yea and amen in Christ Jesus.’”

“Papa,” said Horace, “how can it be that good Christian men are fighting and killing each other?”

“It is a very strange thing, my son; yet undoubtedly true that there are many true Christians on both sides.  They do not see alike, and each is defending what he believes a righteous cause.”

“Listen all,” said Mrs. Dinsmore, who was reading a letter from Daisy, her youngest sister.

“Richard is ill in the hospital at Washington, and May has gone on to nurse him.  Dr. King, of Lansdale, Ohio, is there acting as volunteer surgeon, and has Lottie with him.  She will be company for our May.  Don’t worry about Ritchie; May writes that he is getting better fast.”

Rose smiled as she read the last sentence.

“What is it, mamma?” asked Elsie.

“Nothing much; only I was thinking how greatly Ritchie seemed to admire Miss King at the time of the wedding.”

“Well, if he loses his heart I hope he will get another in exchange.”

“Why, Sister Elsie, how could Uncle Ritchie lose his heart? did they shoot a hole so it might drop out?” queried Rosebud in wide-eyed wonder.  “I hope the doctors will sew up the place quick ’fore it does fall out,” she added, with a look of deep concern.  “Poor, dear Uncle Wal is killed,” she sobbed; “and Uncle Art too, and I don’t want all my uncles to die or to be killed.”

“We will ask God to take care of them, dear daughter,” said Rose, caressing the little weeper, “and we know that He is able to do it.”

* * * * *

One day in the following January—­1863—­the gentlemen went into the city for a few hours, leaving their wives and children at home.  They returned with faces full of excitement.

“What news?” queried both ladies in a breath.

“Lincoln has issued an Emancipation Proclamation freeing all the blacks.”

There was a momentary pause:  then Rose said, “If it puts an end to this dreadful war, I shall not be sorry.”

“Nor I,” said Elsie.

“Perhaps you don’t reflect that it takes a good deal out of our pockets,” remarked her father.  “Several hundred thousand from yours.”

“Yes, papa, I know; but we will not be very poor.  I alone have enough left to keep us all comfortably.  If I were only sure it would add to the happiness of my poor people, I should rejoice over it.  But I am sorely troubled to know what has, or will become of them.  It is more than two years now, since we have heard a word from Viamede.”

“It is very likely we shall find nothing but ruins on all our plantations—­Viamede, the Oaks, Ion, and Roselands,” remarked Mr. Dinsmore, pacing to and fro with an anxious and disturbed countenance.