“I think, Louise,” said Mrs. Whately, joining her in the hall, “we can accomplish most if we work much together and under the directions of the surgeons.  It is evident from the numbers of the wounded that time, strength, food—­everything will have to be used to the best advantage.  I’m glad that we both got some sleep last night.  Now, I insist.  Before you do a thing you must have a cup of hot coffee and some nourishing food yourself.  The best impulses in the world are not equal to the tasks before us.  Indeed, we shall fail these poor men in their sore need if we do not keep our strength.  The worst is yet to come.  As far as you can, control your feelings, for emotion wears faster than work.  Let’s first go to the kitchen.”

Zany followed from the dining-room with her hands full of dishes.  She gave Miss Lou a swift, significant glance, and that was all.  Even she was sobered by the scenes witnessed that morning and the thought of Chunk’s indefinite absence.  Aun’ Suke sat dozing in a corner, absolutely worn out, and other negroes from the quarters had been pressed into the service.  Mrs. Baron was superintending their efforts to supply soup and such articles of diet as the surgeons had ordered.  “Ole miss” now shone to advantage and had the executive ability of a general.  In cool, sharp, decisive tones she gave her orders, which were obeyed promptly by assistants awed into forgetfulness of everything else except the great, solemn emergency.  All differences had disappeared between the two ladies, and they began consulting at once how best to meet the prolonged demands now clearly foreseen.

“The confusion and conflicting requirements are just awful,” said Mrs. Baron.  “As soon as possible, we must bring about some system and order.  One of the first things to do is to get as many provisions and delicacies as possible under lock and key, especially the coffee and sugar.  They are going to give out anyway, before long.”

Miss Lou stole away and ran to Aun’ Jinkey’s cabin.  Soldiers had taken possession of it and were cooking and eating their breakfasts.  Some recognized the girl politely as she stood at the door, while others continued their occupation in stolid indifference.  Aun’ Jinkey rose tottering from a corner and came to the doorstep.  “You see how ‘tis, honey,” she said.  “Dey des gwine on ez ef I ain’ yere.  I a hun’erd yeahs ol’er dan I wuz w’en you want sump’n ter hap’n.”

“Take courage, mammy,” Miss Lou whispered.  “Chunk’s safe.  Have you had any breakfast?”

“I can’t eat, honey, w’en ev’yting des a whirlin’.”

The girl darted away and in a few moments returned with a cup of coffee.  Entering the cabin, she said, “Fair play, gentlemen.  This is my old mammy’s cabin and this her place here in the corner by the hearth.  Will you do me the favor of being kind to her and letting her remain undisturbed?  Then you can use her fireplace all you please.”