The mail had been given to the colonel, as he insisted it should be. With
some appearance of interest he said, "From Mark, for you, Ann."
"None for me, Uncle?" asked Leila, as she went around the table. "Let me
help you. How many there are." She captured her own share, and for a
moment stood curious as she sorted the mail. "Army trash, Uncle! What a
lot of paper is needed to carry on war! Here is one--I have seen him
before--he is marked 'Respectfully referred.'"
The colonel released a smile, which stirred Ann like a pleasant memory,
and fed one of the little hopes she was ever on the watch to find. "What
is your letter, Ann?" he asked.
Looking up she replied, "It is only to acknowledge receipt of my draft.
He is in Washington. I gather that he does not mean to come back until
the war is over." "Over!" she thought; "Lee is not Pemberton, as Grant
will learn." It was of more moment to her that Penhallow was easier to
interest, and ate as he used to do.
"Is your letter from John, Leila?" he said. "I don't like concealments."
"But, I didn't conceal anything!"
"Don't contradict me!"
"No, sir."
Ann's face grew watchful, fearing one of the outbreaks which left him
weak and querulous.
"Well," said the colonel, "read us John's letter. There is as much fuss
about it as if it were a love-letter.
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