as Athens to a Greek.  To her the marble Capitol shining on its hill was a sacred temple, and the great shaft that struck upward through the sunlight, though yet unfinished, a fitting memorial to him who had led the barefoot soldiers of the colonies through ridicule to victory.  They looked up many institutions and monument, they even had time to go to the Navy Yard, and they saved the contemplation of the White House till the last.  The White House, which Cynthia thought the finest and most graceful mansion in all the world, in its simplicity and dignity, a fitting dwelling for the chosen of the nation.  Under the little tree which Jethro had mentioned, Ephraim stood bareheaded before the walls which had sheltered Lincoln, which were now the home of the greatest of his captains, Grant:  and wondrous emotions played upon the girl’s spirit, too, as she gazed.  They forgot the present in the past and the future, and they did not see the two gentlemen who had left the portico some minutes before and were now coming toward them along the sidewalk.

The two gentlemen, however, slowed their steps involuntarily at a sight which was uncommon, even in Washington.  The girl’s arm was in the soldier’s, and her face, which even in repose had a true nobility, now was alight with an inspiration that is seen but seldom in a lifetime.  In marble, could it have been wrought by a great sculptor, men would have dreamed before it of high things.

The two, indeed, might have stood for a group, the girl as the spirit, the man as the body which had risked and suffered all for it, and still held it fast.  For the honest face of the soldier reflected that spirit as truly as a mirror.

Ephraim was aroused from his thoughts by Cynthia nudging his arm.  He started, put on his hat, and stared very hard at a man smoking a cigar who was standing before him.  Then he stiffened and raised his hand in an involuntary salute.  The man smiled.  He was not very tall, he had a closely trimmed light beard that was growing a little gray, he wore a soft hat something like Ephraim’s, a black tie on a white pleated shirt, and his eyeglasses were pinned to his vest.  His eyes were all kindness.

“How do you do, Comrade?” he said, holding out his hand.

“General,” said Ephraim, “Mr. President,” he added, correcting himself, “how be you?” He shifted the green umbrella, and shook the hand timidly but warmly.

“General will do,” said the President, with a smiling glance at the tall senator beside him, “I like to be called General.”

“You’ve growed some older, General,” said Ephraim, scanning his face with a simple reverence and affection, “but you hain’t changed so much as I’d a thought since I saw you whittlin’ under a tree beside the Lacy house in the Wilderness.”

“My duty has changed some,” answered the President, quite as simply.  He added with a touch of sadness, “I liked those days best, Comrade.”