An officer who had been sharing the seat with Merry arose on hearing this and said, kindly: 

“Madam, if you will make use of your seat as a couch, perhaps your mother will feel more comfortable reclining.  I will get a seat elsewhere.”

Olympia was too much distressed to think of acknowledging this courteous action, but Merry spoke up timidly: 

“We are most grateful to you, sir.”

“Oh, don’t mention it.  Are you going far?” “Yes, we’re going to Richmond, to—­to find our boys, lost in the battle two weeks ago.”

“Oh, you’re from the North.”  He was a young man, perhaps thirty, evidently proud of his unsoiled uniform and the glittering insignia of rank on the sleeve and collar.

“Yes, sir; we’re from Acredale, near Warchester,” Merry said, as though Acredale must be known even in this remote place, and that the knowing of it would bring a certain consideration to the travelers.

“Oh, yes, Warchester.  I fell in with an officer from there after the battle, a Captain Boone.  Do you know him?”

“Oh, dear me, yes.  He is from Acredale.  He is captain of Company K of the Caribee Regiment—­”

“Caribee?  Why, yes.  I remember that name.  We got their flags and sent them to Richmond; we—­”

“And, oh, sir, did you take the prisoners?  I mean the Caribees—­were there many?  Oh, dear sir, it is among them our boys were; they were mere boys.”

“Yes, ma’am, there were a good smart lot of them, and as you say all very young.  Boone himself can’t be twenty-five.”

“And are they treated well?  Do they have care?  Of course you did not ask any of their names?” Merry asked eagerly, comforted to be able to talk with some one who knew of the Caribees, for heretofore, of the scores they had questioned, no one had ever heard of the regiment.

“Oh, as to that, ma’am, you know a soldier’s life is hard, and a prisoner’s is a good deal harder.  Most of your men are in Castle Thunder—­a large tobacco warehouse.”  He hesitated, and looked furtively at Olympia administering water to her mother.  “Perhaps,” he said, heartily, “if you would put a drop of whisky in the cup it would brace up your mother’s nerves.  We find it a good friend down here, when it isn’t an enemy,” he added, smiling as Olympia looked at the proffered flask hesitatingly.

“I assure you, madam,” (Southerners, in the old time at least, imitated the pleasant continental custom of addressing all women by this comprehensive term), “you will be the better for a sip yourself.  It was upon that we did most of our fighting the other day, and it is a mighty good brace-up, I assure you.”

But Olympia shook her head, smiling.  Her mother had taken a fair dose, and was, as she owned, greatly benefited by it.  The young man sat on the arm of the opposite seat, anxious to continue the conversation, but divided in mind.  Merry was trying to hide her tears, and kept her head obstinately toward the window.  Olympia, with her mother’s head pillowed on her lap, strove to fan a current of air into circulation.  She gave the young man a reassuring glance, and he resumed his seat in front of her, beside the distracted Merry.