WAR
When I read that last I saw Evelyn catch her breath, and I asked her, very kind this time, to write back a large no. That his place was taken and his room was filled—with that perfume that he liked. There wasn't a hole or corner for him, except, maybe, the haymow, with Wasser, and so, he got to stay down there, and learn!—and let 'em guess whether he was Union or rebel.
Evelyn didn't want to write that, either, remembering my scolding, maybe, but cried a little again, though meek and humble now. Nothing about the murderer of her father; and she kissed me.
"Daddy, I'll go away and make room for Dave," she said. "I ought to, I am a rebel. I can't help it."
But I kissed her and said that we liked her as much as Dave, and that she couldn't go. That we loved her—loved her just for herself—which was good enough excuse for any one!—and not because we wanted to keep Dave down among the Johnny Rebs. He went there to
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