NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
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‘form and folded me in his arms. 
dignant people had swept aside politics 
and diplomacy and had surged with 
such force about the nation’s rulers 
that no one dared stand in its path. 
The martial spirit of my ancestors 
had never burned within me, for my 
mind had always been set in other di- 
rections, and my pursuits were those 
of peace. Never hesitating for a mo- 
ment, however, I started across the 
continent. By telegraph and letters I 
collected my scattered influences and, 
backed by my delegation in congress, 
asked the governor of my state for a 
commission. It was secured without 
much trouble, and I was mustered in 
the service as a first leutenant of vol- 
unteers in one of the regiments from 
Massachusetts. 
CHAPTER VIII. 
Weary Weeks of Waiting. 
HEN began the weary weeks— 
and months, it seemed to some 
of us—of waiting. The excite- 
ment of enlisting and drilling 
the men, organizing the companies and 
getting the recruits uniformed acted on 
‘me like-a tonic. I ceased to brood over 
my disappointment, and, while my love 
for Miss Ellen was as great as ever, 
yet I felt that I had regained my man- 
hood, and the war spirit, once aroused 
in me, drove me like a master. The 
day of quitting the state was a sad one 
for many, but it was not so for me. 
My heart bounded with joy when the 
order for our movement was read at 
headquarters. Of all the officers I 
think I was the only one whose de- 
parture was not blessed with tears of 
mother, sister or sweetheart. My fa- 
ther, now old and feeble, came to see 
me, and his eyes became wet as he 
beheld me for the first time in my uni- 
My 
mother had long been dead—in fact, I 
could scarcely remember her at all. 
Before saying goodby to my father I 
gave him a letter and made him prom- 
ise that should anything happen to me 
he would send it to the address on the 
envelope. 
He looked at me sadly for a moment 
and said: 
“Does she live in the south, Howard, 
and is that why you have stayed away 
80 long?” 
I told him yes and turned away my 
head that he might not see what it had 
cost me to speak of her. He laid his 
hand gently on my shoulder and said, 
“We Palmers have never been lucky 
there, my son,” and I thought I under- 
stood many little things in his life and 
knew then why he never had anything 
but what was kind to say of that south- 
ern country when he heard it under 
discussion. I grasped his hand and 
held it for a moment. 
“May God protect you and bring 
you safe to me again,” was all he said 
and left me. 
Our regiment was only ordered to 
Camp Meade, but it was a start. The 
@ays there were dreary ones, and ] 
shall never forget the shout our boys 
put up when the order which turned 
our face to Camp Thomas, at Chicka. 
mauga, was read to them. It set our 
blood on fire, and I cannot repress my 
feelings of state pride even now when 
I recall the happy faces of those Buy 
State fellows as they prepared to 
shoulder their muskets and start for 
the south. A majority of the regiment 
wanted to be brigaded with other regi. 
ments from Massachusetts, but with 
wisdom and foresight the chief execu: 
tive commanded that the troops from 
the north should be brigaded with 
those from the south and west. HI 
was a wise policy that threw the men 
from Michigan with those from Texas 
and those from California with those 
from Maine and Vermont, and the men 
from Massachusetts with the honest 
fellows from Georgia. The spirit of 
friendship which had been growing for 
over thirty years was to be cemented 
by an alliance against a common ene- 
my. This was how we found ourselves 
in the same brigade with a Georgia 
regiment and with another from Ken- 
tucky. 
We mingled with one another from 
the first on friendly terms; we shared 
one another’s rations and nursed one 
another’s sick. I met every Georgian 
with an outstretched hand, for I felt 
somehow that they had claims on me 
which the others did not possess. The 
individual was lost in that great, 
crowded camp, and those with whom 
I talked of the Turpins did not seem 
to know them. But I was destined to 
hear news of my friends much sooner 
than I thought. 
I had been sent to division headquar- 
ters one day with a message from my 
eolonel. As I stepped under the awn- 
ing of the tent I saw an officer in a 
major’s uniform sitting at a table read- 
ing some reports. The face was par- 
tiaNy in shadow, but I saw at once 
that it was Bud. 
How much he knew I did not know. 
I was eager to learn. He saw me be- 
fore I spoke, and, not waiting, as I had 
done, he leaped from the table, scat- 
tering the contents over the floor, and 
rushed to me with arms outstretched. 
Impulsively he threw one arm around 
my neck and with the other grasped 
my hand. He saw how deep my feel- 
ing was and did not speak at once. 
“Bud,” I asked finally, “how are all 
at the Pines?’ It was the question 
which was most natural to my lips, 
for I had been hungering, yet dread- 
ing, to hear news of them. 
“About the same. Nothing ever 
changes there,” he said. 
“Your father and mother?” I asked. 
“Both are well, thank God!” 
_ “And Miss Dilen?” I ventured. 
For a moment his face clouded 
jwhen he told me she was not like 
(what she used to be. Then suddenly, 
as if some idea had shot across his 
mind for the first time, he dropped my 
‘hand and, looking me squarely in the 
‘ rs 
face, said: 
“She has never been. the same ‘since 
you were there.” He seemed suddenly 
to stiffen with dignity as he added: 
“Palmer, if I thought your visit there 
had wrought this change heaven only 
knows what I would do. Before tak- 
ing my hand again answer me honest- 
ly, Palmer, did you trifle with my little 
sister when you were with us at the 
Pines?” 
“Before God I did not!” I eried. “‘She 
rejected my love, and that is why I left 
so suddenly. I will tell you all about 
it, Bud, as I wanted to do before I 
left,” I said. 
“I believe you, Palmer,” he said, lay- 
ing his hand on my shoulder again. 
He Rushed to Me With Arms Out- 
stretched, 
“But keep your secret, whatever it may 
be, for it is hers also, and you have no 
right to betray it.’ 
I grasped his hand again and stood 
looking out into the dusty camp street 
and over the hills in the distance. 
“Who is with them?” I asked pres- 
ently. 
“My younger brother, little Brent. He 
is keeping the family alive while I am 
doing what I can to keep alive its repu- 
tation,” he said with an attempt at 
humor that cut me like a knife. “You 
may not know how we feel about this 
sort of thing down here,’ he added, 
“but to us it is quite as dear as life 
itself.” 
(To be continued.) 
