WAR
didn't know my dear old Jonathan standing up there, tall, strong, white, half smiling, as if, at last, he had found a way through darkness. The multitude moved upon itself. I saw three boys I knew coming through the crowd. No fuss, just in earnest—just like Jonathan. But I was deathly afraid they'd get there before I could. So I yells out:
"Me next!"
The crowd parted and the editor grabbed me by the hands and dragged me to the box. He was crying more than ever.
"Oh, men of the Union!" he sobs out. "This is glorious! Another of the suspected family standing before you, proving his loyalty with his life! Oh, it swells my heart almost to bursting! I have heard him called a Knight—sympathizer—Copperhead. I have heard his house called the headquarters for the South—whence information and material go to the Confederates. Why, friends, maybe, if we only knew it, all this while, all about us, men like these have been under suspicion, yet only
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