Happy Tom, who concealed under a light manner uncommonly keen perceptions, noticed Harry’s depression.

“What are you thinking about, Harry?” he asked.

“Several things, Happy.  Among them, the days when we rode here with Stonewall from one victory to another.”

“We’ll have to think of something else.  Cheer up.  Remember the old saying that the darkest hour is just before the dawn.”

“Whose dawn?”

“That’s not like you, Harry.  You’ve usually put up the boldest front of us all.”

“Happy’s giving you good advice,” said St. Clair.

“So he is,” said Harry, as he shook himself.  “We’ll fight ’em off tomorrow.  They can’t beat us again.  The spirit of Old Jack will hover over us.”

“If we only had more men,” said Dalton.  “Then we could spread out and cover the slopes of the mountains on either side.  I wish I knew whether those dark fringes hid anything we ought to know.”

“They hide rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, birds and maybe a black bear or two,” said Happy Tom.  “When we shatter Sheridan’s army and drive the fragments across the Potomac I think I’ll come back here and do a little hunting, leaving to Lee the task of cleaning up the Army of the Potomac.”

“I’d like to come with you,” said St. Clair, “but I wouldn’t bring any gun.  I’d just roam through the woods for a week and disturb nothing.  If I saw a bear I’d point my finger at him and say:  ’Go away, young fellow, I won’t bother you if you won’t bother me,’ and then he’d amble off peacefully in one direction, and I’d amble off peacefully in another.  I wouldn’t want to hear a gun fired during all that week.  I’d just rest, rest, rest my nerves and my soul.  I wouldn’t break a bough or a bush.  I’d even be careful how hard I stepped on the leaves.  Birds could walk all over me if they liked.  I’d drink from those clear streams, and I’d sleep in my blanket on a bed of leaves.”

“But suppose it rained, Arthur?”

“I wouldn’t let it rain in that enchanted week of mine.  Nothing would happen except what I wanted to happen.  It would be a week of the most absolute peace and quiet the world has ever known.  There wouldn’t be any winds, they would be zephyrs.  The skies would all be made out of the softest and finest of blue satin and any little clouds that floated before ’em would be made of white satin of the same quality.  The nights would be clear with the most wonderful stars that ever shone.  Great new stars would come out for the first time, and twinkle for me, and the man in the most silvery moon known in the history of time would grin down at me and say without words:  ’St. Clair, old fellow, this is your week of peace, everything has been fixed for you, so make the most of it.’  And then I’d wander on.  The birds would sing to me and every one of ’em would sing like a prima donna.  Wherever I stepped, wild flowers would burst into bloom as I passed, and if a gnat should happen to buzz before my face I wouldn’t brush him away for fear of hurting him.  The universe and I would be at peace with each other.”