"It means a long war," said one.
"Oh, pshaw! there will be no war at all. It will all be over in two or three months," added another.
"The South can't fight, and one big battle will finish the whole thing," said a third.
Nobody dreamed of what was in store for the Nation,—four long years of a bloody contest, fathers and brothers slain, families divided, fortunes lost, business paralyzed, and the best of friends made the bitterest of enemies. It was truly a time to try men's souls. Nobody knew what to expect, nobody knew what would happen next.
In the post-office, sorting out mail matter, was William McKinley. He had given up teaching the district school and was now acting as an assistant postmaster. As the talk from outside sifted to his ears, he looked up in wonder.
"So the South has started the war?" he said.
"Yes, the South has started the war, William," said a man who was waiting for his mail. "They're foolish to do it, for they can't hold out long."
At this McKinley shook his head. "I
