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 202 and re-intermeiits, as rumors of the war were cheering or alarming,—for we had a fresh rumor nearly every day,—was true to her, but Tom was less fortunate in his confidant, and that red powder-can was near costing the thirteen-year-old boy his life. Ida buried her chief treasure, a pair of cheap china vases, a quarter of a mile from the house, down the spring hill.

In the midst of all this Mrs. Allen's baby died. One of the plantation carpenters made a coffin, and the Burleigh family buried the little child. No clergyman was to be had. Many of them were gone as chaplains in the army. Our pastor led his company into the first battle of Manassas. The baby was buried in the park under a small oaktree. The deer, seeing the procession of the family and the coffin borne by the negro men come in, with the curiosity of their species drew near. The gentler ones mingled with the group around the open grave, one special pet licking the hands of her human friends and stretching out her beautiful neck to reach the flowers that the young children bad brought to strew on the little coffin.

The rude coffin and the absence of the minister, and of any white man save one silvery-haired one, spoke of war. But it was a beautiful and peaceful scene. The setting sun threw its slanting rays on the, deer as they stood in the background near the forest-trees, and on the little group gathered close to the grave.

A woman's voice was repeating the solemn ritual of the Episcopal Church for the burial of the dead.

The next rumor that came was that we were left within the enemy's lines, and it was true. Thomas Dabney thought it best to stay quietly at home and