For more than an hour after his brother’s departure Mr. George Eldon was very busy in his office, buying and selling; then came a lull for a short space, giving him time to think again of Ethel’s letter and what might be done to secure a kindly welcome for the little orphans at his own house and that of his brother.

“Albert will be back with them before night, and our wives ought to have warning that they are coming. It would be hardly fair to take them entirely by surprise. I promised my brother too, that I would endeavor to prepare them for the unexpected arrival,” he mused. “Well, I think I can spare the time now as easily as later.”

At that instant the door into the counting room opened and his eldest son came in.

“Ah, George,” said the father, “I was just about to call you. I am going up home to see your mother and aunt, to tell them of the contents of this letter,” handing Ethel’s missive to him as he spoke.

George took it, glanced rapidly over the contents, then turning to his father with flushing cheeks and flashing eyes, “The inhuman scoundrel!” he exclaimed, “You will take the poor little things away from him as soon as possible, I hope.”

“Yes; your Uncle Albert has gone for them and will doubtless have them here before night. I must go up home at once with the news, leaving matters here in your care until I get back.”

“Yes, sir, I think I can attend to them to your satisfaction,” returned the son. “And I hope you will find mother and Aunt Augusta entirely willing to take those poor little orphans in to share our homes. That Coote has always seemed to me a fawning hypocrite, and I am sure of it now.”

“I am of pretty much the same opinion, and he shall never again, with my consent, have an opportunity to abuse those little ones, or any child committed to my care.”

There had been some changes in Mr. George Eldon’s family in the last two years. A fall on the icy pavement one winter day had so injured Mrs. Eldon’s spine as to make her a cripple for life, never able to leave her room unless carried from it. At first she felt the trial well-nigh unendurable, but gradually she had grown submissive; gentle, patient, and resigned; thankful too for the blessings still hers—a good home, kind and affectionate husband, sons, and niece, a competent and efficient housekeeper and abundant means. Also that she still had the use of all her senses, her hands and eyes, so that she could read, sew, and crochet, making herself useful to her family and helpful to the needy.

In the family of Mr. Albert Eldon there had been little change except such as time inevitably brings to all; the boys and girls were growing up, Albert and Arabella were beginning to go into society, and the younger ones had a governess, Miss Annie West, who also gave lessons in music and the languages to Dorothy Dean, Mrs. George’s niece.

Mrs. Augusta still devoted much of her time to novel-reading and what she deemed the claims of society, yet paid a little more attention to those of household, husband, and children.

Mrs. George, in an easy-chair and propped up with cushions, was busily crocheting when she heard the front door open and shut, then her husband’s step on the stairs.

“Ah! I wonder what brings George home at this time of day?” was her mental exclamation, and as he entered by the open door of her room she turned toward him with a welcoming smile.

“A pleasant surprise, my dear!” she said.

“Yes, to me as well as yourself,” he said, returning the smile. “How are you now? Free from pain, I hope.”

“Yes, quite comfortable, thank you. Ah, I see you have a letter,” as he drew it from his pocket, at the same time taking possession of a chair close at her side.

“Yes, from my little niece Ethel.” And without further preface he began reading it aloud.

“Why, the poor little things!” she exclaimed when he had finished. “We must send for them, George, and provide them with a better home, either here or elsewhere. I never thought the Cootes could be so cruel.”

“No, nor I. The letter came this morning. My brother and I were roused to indignation by its perusal, and he has gone for the children—will have them here, I confidently expect, sometime this afternoon.”

“They shall be welcome,” she returned. “Fortunately Mrs. Wood is fond of children, and I dare say, being two years older, and having been so cowed and kept down, they will be much more easily managed than they were before.”

“Yes, I hope so; and you need have no trouble whatever with them; our good housekeeper and Dorothy can certainly do all that is needed. Will you order the necessary preparations, or shall I?”

“I do not want to take too much of your valuable time,” she replied, “so, if you like to trust Mrs. Wood and me, I will talk matters over with her and get her to do what is necessary.”

“Very well, then, I will go at once to Augusta with the news, that she, too, may have time for needed preparations.”

He found Augusta in her dressing room, the older three of her daughters and Dorothy Dean engaged in examining fashion plates and discussing weighty questions in regard to what materials they should purchase for their fall dresses, and in what style they should have them made up.

“Ah, I see I am interrupting a solemn council,” said Mr. Eldon with playful look and tone, “but do not be too much distressed; I shall take but a very few minutes of your precious time, my own being equally valuable.” With that he opened and read aloud Ethel’s letter.

All present seemed excited to indignation, Dorothy perhaps the most of any.

“The poor little things!” she exclaimed. “Uncle, do have them brought here at once, even if we must take the whole four.”

“We’ll not let you do that. We’ll do our share,” said Mrs. Augusta. “I should never have been in favor of sending them to the Cootes if I had dreamed they could be guilty of treating the poor little creatures with such barbarous cruelty.”

“No, nor would any of us,” said Arabella. “Has papa gone for them, Uncle George?”

“Yes, and will probably have them here in a few hours. I did not want you or my wife taken by surprise, Augusta, so came up to forewarn you of their expected arrival. And now I must hurry back to my business; so good-morning to you all,” and with the last word he bowed himself out of the room.

“Dear me, what a shame it is!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I’d just enjoy having that cruel wretch of a Coote thrashed within an inch of his life.”

“I, too,” said Olive. “How I wish papa and Uncle George had found him out long ago; still more that they had never given him a chance to abuse those poor children.”

“I’m afraid we were none of us quite so kind to them as we might have been,” said Arabella, “but now we are going to have a chance to make it up to them.”

“Yes, remember that, all of you,” said their mother. “Minnie, go and tell Miss Norris I wish to see her at once if she is at leisure.” Minnie hastened to do the errand, the housekeeper came, listened with evident interest to the story of the little orphan nephew and nieces expected to arrive that afternoon, received Mrs. Eldon’s directions in regard to the necessary preparations, and at once set to work to carry them out.

So the little party, arriving in due time, received a hearty welcome in both families and were made very comfortable, very happy; for though domiciled in the two houses, they were together a great deal through the day. Also they enjoyed their studies under the tuition of the kindest and most patient of governesses.

Mrs. Wood too was very kind to Blanche and Harry; so were their uncles, Cousins George and William, and Dorothy Dean. They seldom saw their Aunt Sarah, but when they did, found her far kinder than she had been when they were with her before. So were the relatives in the other house also, and to the four young orphans life was far more enjoyable than it had been since the death of their parents.

Yet there were days when things went wrong with them and they longed for a home of their own where they could all be together. Ethel in especial looked forward to such a time, and tried to learn all she could that would enable her to earn money to make a home and support herself and the others; and when any one of them was in trouble, she tried to cheer and comfort that one with the hope that some day the bright dream would become a reality.

She still indulged a faint hope that some day they would find, or be found by their maternal grandparents; but lest they should not, she was careful not to slacken her exertions to prepare for self-support. She was obliging and helpful by nature, and her older cousins soon fell into the habit of calling upon her to do their errands about the house, then occasionally at the stores, and to assist them in dressing for parties and calls, at length making quite a Cinderella of her. Her dress was simple and inexpensive, while they wore silks and rich laces and diamonds. She bore it all without murmur or complaint, making herself as useful as she could, never confiding her plans and wishes to them, but using her spare moments for the beautiful needlework taught her by Mrs. Coote, hoping that at some future time she would be able to dispose of it for money which would help in the carrying out of her plans for the future of herself and dear brother and sisters.

Thus two years passed, bringing no remarkable event. Then one October day—it was in the year 1859—Ethel, who had continued to feel a great interest in the history of the country she now esteemed her own, was much excited by the conversation she heard going on among her older relatives, who were discussing the exciting topic of the raid of John Brown into Virginia, and his seizure of the United States arsenal at Harper’s Ferry.

She was only a listener to the talk, but afterward she searched the newspapers for information on the subject, and felt very sorry for John Brown because he lost his life in trying to set men free, which she thought was a noble thing to do—for to be a slave must be very dreadful, and surely God had given everyone a right to freedom, unless he had forfeited that right by some dreadful crime.

It was a time of great excitement among the Eldons as well as others; the sons, who had been born in America, feeling it even more than their fathers, who were but naturalized citizens. But they, as well as their boys, were opposed to slavery and anxious for the preservation of the Union.

George and William, the sons of the older Mr. Eldon, were frequently in at their Uncle Albert’s, talking over the subject with him and his oldest son Albert; and George at length noticed the deep interest taken by Ethel in all they were saying.

“Well, little coz,” he said at length, “what do you think of it all?”

“Oh,” she returned excitedly, “I do hope this great, grand big Union won’t be broken up! Do you think it will, Cousin George?”

“Oh, no,” he said with a reassuring smile. “The Southerners are only talking, I think; they would hardly be so foolish as to begin a war when the far greater part of the Union would be opposed to them.”

“Oh, I am glad to hear that!” she said with a sigh of relief, “for war must be a dreadful thing.”

“Yes; especially a civil war.”

“Civil?” she returned in a tone of surprise. “I thought civil—was—was—I understood that it was right and good manners to be civil to people.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, smiling and patting the small hand she had laid on his knee, while gazing earnestly and enquiringly into his face; “it sometimes means to be courteous, polite, well-bred, but when applied to war it means a fight between people of the same race and country.”

“And a dreadful kind of war it is when brother fights against brother,” sighed his father, sitting near. “But I can hardly think it will come to that in this case. I think there are few besides the leaders in the South, who would be willing to imbrue their hands in the blood of their brethren.”

“And they are not oppressed, uncle?”

“No, not by any means; they have been having only too much, of their own way and domineering over the rest of the nation. Slavery has had by no means a good effect upon them; it has made them proud, haughty, heartless, selfish, and cruel.”

“No,” said her Uncle Albert, “they have been the oppressors rather than the oppressed; caring only for getting and keeping wealth and power for themselves, and treating their fellow-citizens of the North as beneath them; ‘the mud-sills of the North,’ they are calling us.”

“It is easy to call names,” remarked William; “that sort of warfare requires neither courage nor talent; and so long as they content themselves with that the North will, I think, let them alone severely; but let them secede and attempt to set up a separate government and it is at least doubtful if the loyal North will continue to let them alone.”

Ethel listened eagerly and her fears were relieved for a time. But the very next day came the news that South Carolina had seceded, and it seemed no one could tell what would follow. The daily papers were read with eager interest. The Southern leaders seemed to be crazed, and whirled their States out of the Union one after another without pausing to learn the wishes of the rest of the people; many of whom were strongly opposed to their action and certainly had as indisputable a right to remain in the Union as those leaders to go out.

Ethel hardly understood what was going on, but continued to read the papers and listen to the talk of her elders with a dazed and confused feeling that a great danger was drawing near.

But one Saturday evening, April 13, 1861, news came flashing over the wires that almost struck the hearers dumb with astonishment and dismay. This was the despatch: “Fort Sumter has fallen after a terrific bombardment of thirty-six hours.”

People heard it with sinking of hearts. Was the Union to be destroyed? Was it, could it be possible, that those who should have loved and honored the dear old flag—the beautiful, starry emblem of our liberties—had so insulted it? It was a bitter thought, and men wept as at the loss of a dear and honored friend.

The Sunday that followed was a sad one; but by Monday morning a reaction had come; at whatever cost the nation should live was the verdict of the people; the President had written with his own hand a proclamation, and the telegraph was flashing it east and west to every city and town:

“I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, in virtue of the power in me vested by the Constitution and the laws, have thought fit to call forth, and do call forth, the militia of the several States of the Union to the aggregate number of seventy-five thousand, in order to suppress this combination against the laws, and to cause the laws to be duly executed.”

At the call patriotism awoke and showed itself in a furor of love to the Union and the flag as the emblem of its power and glory, and rapid voluntary enlistments for its defence followed, soon furnishing more troops than the President had called for.

The young men in the Eldon families were as full of patriotic excitement as any others, George and Albert being among the first volunteers in their State, their fathers giving a ready consent, mothers and sisters also, though many and bitter tears were shed over the parting, by Ethel as well as the nearer relatives, for she had grown to love them both, especially her cousin George.

Then the mothers and older girls joined the aid societies and busied themselves with work for the soldiers—making shirts, knitting stockings, scraping lint—and Ethel, full of interest for the cause and of pity for those who must do the fighting for the Union, spent as much time as could be spared from lessons and waiting upon her aunt and cousins, in sharing in those labors; doing so gladly and without any urging or solicitation; she only wished herself old enough to be a nurse, since, being neither boy nor man, she could not enlist as a soldier.

The younger children, too, were anxious to help and took such part in the work as their tender years permitted. It was hoped the war would not last very long; almost everybody thought it would be over in a few months; yet no one could be certain that his or her dear ones might not be killed or sorely wounded in the meantime, or that the struggle might not be prolonged far beyond the time for which enlistments were made at the start.

Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Keith had not forgotten the Eldon children or ceased to feel an interest in them, and occasionally Ethel had a letter from one or the other, which she answered with great painstaking, telling frankly such news of herself, brother, and sisters as she thought they would care to hear.

A letter from Mrs. Weston came for her about the time that her cousins left with the other Philadelphia troops in response to the President’s call, and from it she learned that Mr. Keith, too, had enlisted; also some of his brothers living in Indiana.

“And now,” continued Mrs. Weston, “we women who cannot do the fighting, are banding together to do all in our power to add to the comfort of our soldiers engaged in the struggle to save our dear country from being rent in pieces. We expect to be very busy, but not too busy to be glad to see you and your brother and sisters if you are allowed to pay us a visit this summer. Mrs. Rupert Keith will probably be with us for a time, perhaps all summer, but that need not interfere with a visit from you little folks.”

That invitation Ethel and the others were allowed to accept in the summer vacation. How much had happened meantime! the attack on the Massachusetts troops as they passed through Baltimore in response to the President’s call; the seizure of Harper’s Ferry and Norfolk Navy Yard, besides several battles, some in the East and some in the West.

And the very day of their arrival at Mr. Keith’s came the sad news of the battle of Bull Run, speedily followed by the President’s call for three hundred thousand more men to suppress the rebellion.

It was a time full of excitement, of almost heart-breaking distress, over the disaster, followed by the determination that the rebellion must and should be crushed, cost what it might.

Mrs. Rupert Keith was in sore anxiety and distress till the welcome news arrived that her husband, though in the battle, had been neither wounded nor taken prisoner. The other ladies, though in deep distress for the land they loved, were suffering less keenly than she, as they knew that Mr. Donald Keith was too far West to have been in the battle.

Ethel and Blanche wept bitterly, fearing that their cousins George and Albert had been in the fight and were killed or wounded. But in a day or two a letter from Dorothy brought the welcome news that though among the troops engaged, they had escaped unharmed.