“Let’s not talk about it,” said Pennington, who had been faint too.  “It’s enough to have seen it.  I am going to blot it out of my mind if I can.”

But not one of the three was ever able wholly to forget that hideous dawn.  Luckily the Winchesters themselves had suffered little, but they were quite content to remain in their old place by the brook, where the next day a large man in civilian dress introduced himself to Dick.

“Perhaps you don’t remember me, Mr. Mason,” he said, “but in such times as these it’s easy to forget chance acquaintances.”

Dick looked at him closely.  He was elderly, with heavy pouches under his eyes and a rotund figure, but he looked uncommonly alert and his pale blue eyes had a penetrating quality.  Then Dick recalled him.

“You’re Mr. Watson, the contractor,” he said.

“Right.  Shake hands.”

Dick shook his hand, and he noticed that, while it was fat, it was strong and dry.  He hated damp hands, which always seemed to him to have a slimy touch, as if their owner were reptilian.

“I suppose business is good with you, Mr. Watson,” he said.

“It couldn’t be better, and such affairs as the one I witnessed this morning mean more.  But doubtless I have grieved over it as much as you.  I may profit by the great struggle, but I have not wished either the war or its continuance.  Someone must do the work I am doing.  You’re a bright boy, Lieutenant Mason, and I want you still to bear in mind the hint that I gave you once in Washington.”

“I don’t recall it, this instant.”

“That to go into business with me is a better trade than fighting.”

“I thank you for the offer, but my mind turns in other directions.  I’m not depreciating your occupation, Mr. Watson, but I’m interested in something else.”

“I knew that you were not, Lieutenant Mason.  You have too much sense.  Your kind could not fight if my kind did not find the sinews, and after the war the woods will be full of generals, and colonels and majors who will be glad to get jobs from men like me.”

“I’ve no doubt of it,” said Dick, “but what happened this morning made me think the war is yet far from over.”

“We shall see what we shall see, but if you ever want a friend write to me in Washington.  General delivery, there will do.  Good-by.”

“Good-by,” said Dick, and, as he watched the big man walk away, he felt that he was beginning to understand him.  He had never been interested greatly in mercantile pursuits.  Public and literary life and the soil were the great things to him.  Now he realized that the vast strength of the North, a strength that could survive any number of defeats, lay largely in her trade and commerce.  The South, almost stationary upon the soil, had fallen behind, and no amount of skill and courage could save her.

Colonel Winchester gave the young officers who had been awake all night permission to sleep, and Dick was glad to avail himself of it.  He still felt weak, and ill, and, with a tender smile, remembering his mother’s advice about the blanket, he spread one in the shade of a small oak and lay down upon it.