This corner-house is the one.  Ring softly,—­for the Lieutenant-Colonel lies there with a dreadfully wounded arm, and two sons of the family, one wounded like the Colonel, one fighting with death in the fog of a typhoid fever, will start with fresh pangs at the least sound you can make.  I entered the house, but no cheerful smile met me.  The sufferers were each of them thought to be in a critical condition.  The fourth bed, waiting its tenant day after day, was still empty.  Not a word from my Captain.

Then, foolish, fond body that I was, my heart sank within me.  Had he been taken ill on the road, perhaps been attacked with those formidable symptoms which sometimes come on suddenly after wounds that seemed to be doing well enough, and was his life ebbing away in some lonely cottage, nay, in some cold barn or shed, or at the wayside, unknown, uncared for?  Somewhere between Philadelphia and Hagerstown, if not at the latter town, he must be, at any rate.  I must sweep the hundred and eighty miles between these places as one would sweep a chamber where a precious pearl had been dropped.  I must have a companion in my search, partly to help me look about, and partly because I was getting nervous and felt lonely.  Charley said he would go with me,—­Charley, my Captain’s beloved friend, gentle, but full of spirit and liveliness, cultivated, social, affectionate, a good talker, a most agreeable letter-writer, observing, with large relish of life, and keen sense of humor.  He was not well enough to go, some of the timid ones said; but he answered by packing his carpet-bag, and in an hour or two we were on the Pennsylvania Central Railroad in full blast for Harrisburg.

I should have been a forlorn creature but for the presence of my companion.  In his delightful company I half forgot my anxieties, which, exaggerated as they may seem now, were not unnatural after what I had seen of the confusion and distress that had followed the great battle, nay, which seem almost justified by the recent statement that “high officers” were buried after that battle whose names were never ascertained.  I noticed little matters, as usual.  The road was filled in between the rails with cracked stones, such as are used for macadamizing streets.  They keep the dust down, I suppose, for I could not think of any other use for them.  By and by the glorious valley which stretches along through Chester and Lancaster Counties opened upon us.  Much as I had heard of the fertile regions of Pennsylvania, the vast scale and the uniform luxuriance of this region astonished me.  The grazing pastures were so green, the fields were under such perfect culture, the cattle looked so sleek, the houses were so comfortable, the barns so ample, the fences so well kept, that I did not wonder, when I was told that this region was called the England of Pennsylvania.  The people whom we saw were, like the cattle, well nourished; the young women looked round and wholesome.