Although he was an officer in full uniform he was a youth in years, and

　　he had the spirits of youth. Moreover, it was one of the finest apple

　　trees he had ever seen and the apples hung everywhere, round, ripe and

　　red, fairly asking to be taken and eaten. Dick Mason looked up at them

　　longingly. They made him think of the orchards at home in his own

　　state, and a touch of coolness in the air sharpened his appetite for

　　them all the more.

　　"If you want 'em so badly, Dick," said Warner, "why don't you climb the

　　tree and get 'em? There's plenty for you and also for Pennington and

　　me."

　　"I see. You're as anxious for apples as I am, and you wish me to

　　gather 'em for you by making a strong appeal to my own desires. It's

　　your clever New England way."

　　"We're forbidden to take anything from the people, but it won't hurt to

　　keep a few apples from rotting on the ground. If you won't get 'em

　　Pennington will."

　　"I understand you, George. You're trying to play Frank against me,

　　while you keep yourself safe. You'll go far. Never mind. I'll gather

　　apples for us all."

　　He leaped up, caught the lowest bough, swung himself lightly into the

　　fork, and then climbing a little higher, reached for the reddest and

　　ripest apples, which he flung down in a bountiful supply.

　　"Now, gluttons," he said, "satiate yourselves, but save a lot for me."

　　Then he went up as far as the boughs would sustain him and took a look

　　over the country. Apple trees do not grow very tall, but Dick's tree

　　stood on the highest point in the orchard, and he had a fine view, a

　　view that was in truth the most remarkable the North American continent

　　had yet afforded.

　　He always carried glasses over his shoulder, and lately Colonel

　　Winchester had made him a gift of a splendid pair, which he now put

　　into use, sweeping the whole circle of the horizon. With their

　　powerful aid he was able to see the ancient city of Petersburg, where

　　Lee had thrown himself across Grant's path in order to block his way to

　　Richmond, the Southern capital, and had dug long lines of trenches in

　　which his army lay. It was Lee who first used this method of defense

　　for a smaller force against a larger, and the vast trench warfare of

　　Europe a half century later was a repetition of the mighty struggle of

　　Lee and Grant on the lines of Petersburg.

　　Dick through his glasses saw the trenches, lying like a brown bar

　　across the green country, and opposite them another brown bar, often

　　less than a hundred yards away, which marked where the Northern troops

　　also had dug in. The opposing lines extended a distance of nearly

　　forty miles, and Richmond was only twenty miles behind them. It was

　　the nearest the Army of the Potomac had come to the Southern capital

　　since McClellan had seen the spires of its churches, and that was more

　　than two years away.

　　Warner and Pennington were lying on the ground, eating big red apples

　　with much content and looking up lazily at Mason.

　　"You're curving those glasses about a lot. What do you see, Dick?"

　　asked Pennington at length.

　　"I see Petersburg, an old, old town, half buried in foliage, and with

　　many orchards and gardens about it. A pity that two great armies

　　should focus on such a pleasant place."

　　"No time for sentiment, Dick. What else do you see?"

　　"Jets of smoke and flame from the trenches, an irregular sort of

　　firing, sometimes a half-dozen shots at one place, and then a long and

　　peaceful break until you come to another place, where they're

　　exchanging bullets."

　　"What more do you see, Brother Richard?"

　　"I see a Johnny come out of his trench hands up and advance toward one

　　of our Yanks opposite, who also has come out of his trench hands up."

　　"What are they trading?" asked Warner.

　　"The Reb offers a square of plug tobacco, and the Yank a bundle of

　　newspapers. Now they've made the exchange, now they've shaken hands

　　and each is going back to his own trench."

　　"It's a merry world, my masters, as has been said before," resumed

　　Warner, "but I should add that it's also a mad wag of a world. Here we

　　are face to face for forty miles, at some points seeking to kill one

　　another in a highly impersonal way, and at other points conducting sale

　　and barter according to the established customs of peace. People at

　　home wouldn't believe it, and later on a lot more won't believe it,

　　when the writers come to write about it. But it's true just the same.

　　What else do you see from the apple tower, Brother Richard?"

　　"A long line of wagons approaching a camp some distance behind the

　　Confederate trenches. They must be loaded pretty heavily, because the

　　drivers are cracking their whips over the horses and mules."

　　"That's bad. Provisions, I suppose," said Warner. "The more these

　　Johnnies get to eat the harder they fight, and they're not supposed to

　　be receiving supplies now. Our cavalry ought to have cut off that

　　wagon train. I shall have to speak to Sheridan about it. This is no

　　way to starve the Johnnies to death. Seest aught more, Brother

　　Richard?"

　　"I do! I do! Jump up, boys, and use your own glasses! I behold a

　　large man on a gray horse, riding slowly along, as if he were

　　inspecting troops away behind the trenches. Wherever he passes the

　　soldiers snatch off their caps and, although I can't hear 'em, I know

　　they're cheering. It's Lee himself!"

　　Both Warner and Pennington swung themselves upon the lower boughs of

　　the tree and put their glasses to their eyes.

　　"It's surely Lee," said Warner. "I'm glad to get a look at him. He's

　　been giving us a lot of trouble for more than three years now, but I

　　think General Grant is going to take his measure."

　　"They're terribly reduced," said Pennington, "and if we stick to it

　　we're bound to win. Still, you boys will recall for some time that

　　we've had a war. What else do you see from the heights of the apple

　　tree, Dick?"

　　"Distant dust behind our own lines, and figures moving in it dimly.

　　Cavalry practicing, I should say. Have you fellows fruit enough?"

　　"Plenty. You can climb down and if the farmer hurries here with his

　　dog to catch you we'll protect you."

　　"This is a fine apple tree," said Dick, as he descended slowly. "Apple

　　trees are objects of beauty. They look so well in the spring all in

　　white bloom, and then they look just as well in the fall, when the red

　　or yellow apples hang among the leaves. And this is one of the finest

　　I've ever seen."

　　He did not dream then that he should remember an apple tree his whole

　　life, that an apple tree, and one apple tree in particular, should

　　always call to his mind a tremendous event, losing nothing of its

　　intensity and vividness with the passing years. But all that was in

　　the future, and when he joined his comrades on the ground he made good

　　work with the biggest and finest apple he could find.

　　"Early apples," he said, looking up at the tree. "It's not the end of

　　July yet."

　　"But good apples, glorious apples, anyhow," said Pennington, taking

　　another. "Besides, it's fine and cool like autumn."

　　"It won't stay," said Dick. "We've got the whole of August coming.

　　Virginia is like Kentucky. Always lots of hot weather in August. Glad

　　there's no big fighting to be done just now. But it's a pity, isn't

　　it, to tear up a fine farming country like this. Around here is where

　　the United States started. John Smith and Rolfe and Pocahontas and the

　　rest of them may have roamed just where this orchard stands. And later

　　on lots of the great Americans rode about these parts, some of the

　　younger ones carrying their beautiful ladies on pillions behind them.

　　You are a cold-blooded New Englander, Warner, and you believe that

　　anyone fighting against you ought to burn forever, but as for me I feel

　　sorry for Virginia. I don't care what she's done, but I don't like to

　　see the Old Dominion, the Mother of Presidents, stamped flat."

　　"I'm not cold-blooded at all, but I don't gush. I don't forget that

　　this state produced George Washington, but I want victory for our side

　　just the same, no matter how much of Virginia we may have to tread

　　down. Is that farm house over there still empty?"

　　"Of course, or we wouldn't have taken the apples. It belongs to a man

　　named Haynes, and he left ahead of us with his family for Richmond. I

　　fancy it will be a long time before Haynes and his people sleep in

　　their own rooms again. Come, fellows, we'd better be going back.

　　Colonel Winchester is kind to us, but he doesn't want his officers to

　　be prowling about as they please too long."

　　They walked together toward the edge of the orchard and looked at the

　　farm house, from the chimneys of which no smoke had risen in weeks.

　　Dick felt sure it would be used later on as headquarters by some

　　general and his staff, but for the present it was left alone. And

　　being within the Union lines no plunderer had dared to touch it.

　　It was a two-story wooden house, painted white, with green shutters,

　　all closed now. The doors were also locked and sealed until such time

　　as the army authorities wished to open them, but on the portico, facing

　　the Southern lines were two benches, on which the three youths sat, and

　　looked again over the great expanse of rolling country, dotted at

　　intervals by puffs of smoke from the long lines of trenches. Where

　　they sat it was so still that they could hear the faint crackle of the

　　distant rifles, and now and then the heavier crash of a cannon.

　　Dick's mind went back to the Wilderness and its gloomy shades, the

　　sanguinary field of Spottsylvania, and then the terrific mistake of

　　Cold Harbor. The genius of Lee had never burned more brightly. He had

　　handled his diminishing forces with all his old skill and resolution,

　　but Grant had driven on and on. No matter what his losses the North

　　always filled up his ranks again, and poured forward munitions and

　　supplies in a vast and unbroken stream. A nation had summoned all its

　　powers for a supreme effort to win, and Dick felt that the issue of the

　　war was not now in doubt. The genius of Lee and the bravery of his

　　devoted army could no longer save the South. The hammer strokes of

　　Grant would surely crush it.

　　And then what? He had the deepest sympathy for these people of

　　Virginia. What would become of them after the war? Defeat for the

　　South meant nearer approach to destruction than any nation had suffered

　　in generations. To him, born south of the Ohio River, and so closely

　　united by blood with these people, victory as well as defeat had its

　　pangs.

　　Warner and Pennington rose and announced that they would return to the

　　regiment which was held in reserve in a little valley below, but Dick,

　　their leave not having run out yet, decided to stay a while longer.

　　"So long," said Warner. "Let the orchard alone. Leave apples for

　　others. Remember that they are protected by strict orders against all

　　wandering and irresponsible officers, but ourselves."

　　"Yes, be good, Dick," said Pennington, and the two went down the slope,

　　leaving Dick on the portico. He liked being alone at times. The

　　serious cast of mind that he had inherited from his famous great

　　grandfather, Paul Cotter, demanded moments of meditation. It was

　　peaceful too on the portico, and a youth who had been through Grant's

　　Wilderness campaign, a month of continuous and terrible fighting, was

　　glad to rest for a while.

　　The distant rifle fire and the occasional cannon shot had no

　　significance and did not disturb him. They blended now with the breeze

　　that blew among the leaves of the apple trees. He had never felt more

　　like peace, and the pleasant open country was soothing to the eye.

　　What a contrast to that dark and sodden Wilderness where men fought

　　blindly in the dusk. He shuddered as he remembered the forests set on

　　fire by the shells, and burning over the fallen.

　　A light step aroused him and a large man sat down on the bench beside

　　him. Dick often wondered at the swift and almost noiseless tread of

　　Shepard, with whom he was becoming well acquainted. He was tall, built

　　powerfully and must have weighed two hundred pounds, yet he moved with

　　the ease and grace of a boy of sixteen. Dick thought it must come from

　　his trade.

　　"I don't want to intrude, Mr. Mason," said Shepard, "but I saw you

　　sitting here, looking perhaps too grave and thoughtful for one of your

　　years."

　　"You're most welcome, Mr. Shepard, and I was thinking, that is in a

　　vague sort of way."

　　"I saw your face and you were wondering what was to become of Virginia

　　and the Virginians."

　　"So I was, but how did you know it?"

　　"I didn't know it. It was just a guess, and the guess was due to the

　　fact that I was having the same thoughts myself."

　　"So you regard the war as won?" asked Dick, who had a great respect for

　　Shepard's opinion.

　　"If the President keeps General Grant in command, as he will, it's a

　　certainty, but it will take a long time yet. We can't force those

　　trenches down there. Remember what Cold Harbor cost us."

　　Dick shuddered.

　　"I remember it," he said.

　　"It would be worse if we tried to storm Lee's lines. After Cold Harbor

　　the general won't attempt it, and I see a long wait here. But we can

　　afford it. The South grows steadily weaker. Our blockade clamps like

　　a steel band, and presses tighter and tighter all the time. Food is

　　scarce in the Confederacy. So is ammunition. They receive no

　　recruits, and every day the army of Lee is smaller in numbers than it

　　was the day before."

　　"You go into Richmond, Mr. Shepard. I've heard from high officers that

　　you do. How do they feel there with our army only about twenty miles

　　away?"

　　"They're quiet and seem to be confident, but I believe they know their

　　danger."

　　"Have you by any chance seen or heard of my cousin, Harry Kenton, who

　　is a lieutenant on the staff of the Southern commander-in-chief?"

　　Shepard smiled, as if the question brought memories that pleased him.

　　"A fine youth," he said. "Yes, I've seen him more than once. I'm free

　　to tell you, Lieutenant Mason, that I know a lot about this rebel

　　cousin of yours. He and I have come into conflict on several

　　occasions, and I did not win every time."

　　"Nobody could beat Harry always," exclaimed Dick with youthful loyalty.

　　"He was always the strongest and most active among us, and the best in

　　forest and water. He could hunt and fish and trail like the scouts of

　　our border days."

　　"I found him in full possession of all these qualities and he used them

　　against me. I should grieve if that cousin of yours were to fall, Mr.

　　Mason. I want to know him still better after the war."

　　Dick would have asked further questions about the encounters between

　　Harry and the spy, but he judged that Shepard did not care to answer

　　them, and he forbore. Yet the man aroused the most intense curiosity

　　in him. There were spies and spies, and Shepard was one of them, but he

　　was not like the others. He was unquestionably a man of great mental

　　power. His calm, steady gaze and his words to the point showed it. No

　　one patronized Shepard.

　　"I should like to go into Richmond with you some dark night," said

　　Dick, who hid a strong spirit of adventure under his quiet exterior.

　　"You're not serious, Lieutenant Mason?"

　　"I wasn't, maybe, when I began to say it, but I believe I am now. Why

　　shouldn't I be curious about Richmond, a place that great armies have

　　been trying to take for three years? Just at present it's the center

　　of the world to me in interest."

　　"You must not think of such a thing, Mr. Mason. Detection means

　　certain death."

　　"No more for me than for you."

　　"But I have had a long experience and I have resources of which you

　　can't know. Don't think of it again, Mr. Mason."

　　"I was merely jesting. I won't," said Dick.

　　He involuntarily looked toward the point beyond the horizon where

　　Richmond lay, and Shepard meanwhile studied him closely. Young Mason

　　had not come much under his notice until lately, but now he began to

　　interest the spy greatly. Shepard observed what a strong, well-built

　　young fellow he was, tall and slender but extremely muscular. He also

　　bore a marked resemblance to his cousin, Harry Kenton, and such was the

　　quality of Shepard that the likeness strongly recommended Dick to him.

　　Moreover, he read the lurking thought that persisted in Dick's mind.

　　"You mustn't dream of such a thing as entering Richmond, Mr. Mason," he

　　said.

　　"It was just a passing thought. But aren't you going in again?"

　　"Later on, no doubt, but not just now. I understand that we're

　　planning some movement. I don't know what it is, but I'm to wait here

　　until it's over. Good-by, Mr. Mason. Since things are closing in it's

　　possible that you and I will see more of each other than before."

　　"Of course, when I'm personally conducted by you on that trip into

　　Richmond."

　　Shepard, who had left the portico, turned and shook a warning finger.

　　"Dismiss that absolutely and forever from your mind, Mr. Mason," he

　　said.

　　Dick laughed, and watched the stalwart figure of the spy as he strode

　　away. Again the singular ease and lightness of his step struck him. To

　　the lad's fancy the grass did not bend under his feet. Upon Dick as

　　upon Harry, Shepard made the impression of power, not only of strength

　　but of subtlety and courage.

　　"I'm glad that man's on our side," said Dick to himself, as Shepard's

　　figure disappeared among the trees. Then he left the portico and went

　　down in the valley to Colonel Winchester's regiment, where he was

　　received with joyous shouts by several young men, including Warner and

　　Pennington, who had gone on before. Colonel Winchester himself smiled

　　and nodded, and Dick saluted respectfully.

　　The Winchesters, as they loved to call themselves, were faring well at

　　this particular time. Like the Invincibles on the other side, this

　　regiment had been decimated and filled up again several times. It had

　　lost heavily in the Wilderness and at Spottsylvania, but its colonel

　　had escaped without serious hurt and had received special mention for

　　gallantry and coolness. It had been cut up once more at Cold Harbor,

　　and because of its great services and losses it was permitted to remain

　　a while in the rear as a reserve, and obtain the rest it needed so

　　sorely.

　　The brave youths were recovering fast from their wounds and exertions.

　　Their camp was beside a clear brook and there were tents for the

　　officers, though they were but seldom used, most of them, unless it

　　should be raining, preferring to sleep in their blankets under the

　　trees. The water was good to drink, and farther down were several deep

　　pools in which they bathed. Food, as usual in the Northern army, was

　　good and plentiful, and for the Winchesters it seemed more a period of

　　play than of war.

　　"What did you see at the house, Dick?" asked Colonel Winchester.

　　"The spy, Shepard. I talked a while with him. He says the Confederacy

　　is growing weaker every day, but if we try to storm Lee's lines we'll

　　be cut to pieces."

　　"I think he's right in both respects, although I feel sure that some

　　kind of a movement will soon be attempted. But Dick, a mail from the

　　west has arrived and here is a letter for you."

　　He handed the lad a large square envelope, addressed in tall, slanting

　　script, and Dick knew at once that it was from his mother. He seized

　　it eagerly, and Colonel Winchester, suppressing the wish to know what

　　was inside, turned away.

　　I have not heard from my dearest boy since the terrible battles in the

　　east [Mrs. Mason wrote], but I hope and pray that you have come safely

　　through them. You have escaped so many dangers that I feel you must

　　escape all the rest. The news reaches us that the fighting in Virginia

　　has been of the most dreadful character, but when it arrives in

　　Pendleton it has two meanings. Those of our little town who are for

　　the Confederacy say General Grant's losses have been so enormous that

　　he can go no farther, and that the last and greatest effort of the

　　North has failed.

　　Those who sympathize with the Union say General Lee has been reduced so

　　greatly that he must be crushed soon and with him the Confederacy. As

　　you know, I wish the latter to be true, but I suspect that the truth is

　　somewhere between the two statements.

　　But the truth either way brings me great grief. I cannot hate the

　　Southern people. We are Southern ourselves in all save this war, and,

　　although our dear little town is divided in feeling, I have received

　　nothing but kindness from those on the other side. Dr. Russell often

　　asks about you. He says you were the best Latin scholar in the

　　Academy, and he expects you to have a great future, as a learned man,

　　after the war. He speaks oftenest of you and Harry Kenton, and I

　　believe that you two were his favorite pupils. He says that Harry's is

　　the best mathematical mind he has ever found in his long years of

　　teaching.

　　Your room remains just as it was when you left. Juliana brushes and

　　airs it every day, and expects at any time to see her young Master Dick

　　come riding home. She keeps in her mind two pictures of you,

　　absolutely unlike. In one of these pictures you are a great officer,

　　carrying much of the war's weight on your shoulders, consulted

　　continually by General Grant, who goes wrong only when he fails to take

　　your advice. In the other you are a little boy whom she alternately

　　scolds and pets. And it may be that I am somewhat like Juliana in this

　　respect.

　　The garden is very fine this year. The vegetables were never more

　　plentiful, and never of a finer quality. I wish you were here for your

　　share. It must be a trial to have to eat hard crackers and tough beef

　　and pork day after day. I should think that you would grow to hate the

　　sight of them. Sam, the colored man who has been with us so long, has

　　proved as faithful and trustworthy as Juliana. He makes a most

　　excellent farmer, and the yield of corn in the bottom land is going to

　　be amazing.

　　They say that since the Federal successes in the West the operations of

　　Skelly's band of guerrillas have become bolder, but he has not

　　threatened Pendleton again. They say also that a little farther south

　　a band of like character, who call themselves Southern, under a man

　　named Slade, are ravaging, but I suppose that you, who see great

　　generals and great armies daily, are not much concerned about outlaws.

　　Always keep your feet dry and warm if you can, and never fail to spread

　　a blanket between you and the damp grass. Give my respects to Colonel

　　Winchester. Tell him that we hear of him now and then in Kentucky and

　　that we hear only good. Don't forget about the blanket.

　　There was more, but it was these passages over which Dick lingered

　　longest.

　　He read the letter three times--letters were rare in those years, and

　　men prized them highly--and put it away in his strongest pocket.

　　Colonel Winchester was standing by the edge of the brook, and Dick,

　　saluting him, said:

　　"My mother wishes me to deliver to you her respects and best wishes."

　　A flush showed through the tan of the colonel's face, and Dick,

　　noticing it, was startled by a sudden thought. At first his feeling

　　was jealousy, but it passed in an instant, never to come again. There

　　was no finer man in the world than Colonel Winchester.

　　"She is well," he added, "and affairs could go no better at Pendleton."

　　"I am glad," said Colonel Winchester simply. Then he turned to a man

　　with very broad shoulders and asked:

　　"How are the new lads coming on?"

　　"Very well, sir," replied Sergeant Daniel Whitley. "Some of 'em are a

　　little awkward yet, and a few are suffering from change of water, but

　　they're good boys and we can depend on 'em, sir, when the time comes."

　　"Especially since you have been thrashing 'em into shape for so many

　　days, sergeant."

　　"Thank you, sir."

　　An orderly came with a message for Colonel Winchester, who left at

　　once, but Dick and the sergeant, his faithful comrade and teacher,

　　stood beside the stream. They could easily see the bathers farther

　　down, splashing in the water, pulling one another under, and, now and

　　then, hurling a man bodily into the pool. They were all boys to the

　　veteran. Many of them had been trained by him, and his attitude toward

　　them was that of a school teacher toward his pupils.

　　"You have ears that hear everything, sergeant," said Dick. "What is

　　this new movement that I've heard two or three men speak of? Something

　　sudden they say."

　　"I've heard too," replied Sergeant Whitley, "but I can't guess it.

　　Whatever it is, though, it's coming soon. There's a lot of work going

　　on at a point farther down the line, but it's kept a secret from the

　　rest of us here."

　　The sergeant went away presently, and Dick, going down stream, joined

　　some other young officers in a pool. He lay on the bank afterward,

　　but, shortly after dark, Colonel Winchester returned, gave an order,

　　and the whole regiment marched away in the dusk. Dick felt sure that

　　the event Sergeant Whitley had predicted was about to happen, but the

　　colonel gave no hint of its nature, and he continued to wonder, as they

　　advanced steadily in the dusk.