The driver, evidently nearing his destination, became confidentially loquacious.

“Yonder’s Fort Elsworth, ladies!  It’s hid by the forest, but it’s there, you bet!  If you ladies could climb up one o’ them big pines, you’d see the line of forts and trenches in a half-moon from the Chain Bridge at Georgetown to Alexandria, and you’d see the seminary in its pretty park, and, belike, Gineral McClellan in the chapel cupola, a-spying through his spy-glass what deviltry them rebel batteries is hatching on the hill over yonder.”

“Are the rebels there?”

“Yes’m.  Little Mac, he lets ’em stay there till he’s good ‘n’ ready to gobble ’em.”

Ailsa and Letty stared at the bluish hill, the top of which just showed above the forest.

A young soldier of engineers, carrying a bundle of axes, came along the road, singing in a delightful tenor voice the hymn, “Arise, My Soul, Arise!” He glanced admiringly at Ailsa, then at Letty, as the ambulance drove by, but his song did not falter; and far away they heard him singing gloriously through the autumn woods.

Presently a brigade medical officer rode up, signalling the driver to stop, with his gloved hand.

“Where do you come from, ladies—­the General Hospital at Alexandria?”

Ailsa explained.

“That’s good,” he said emphatically; “the brigade hospitals are short handed.  We need experienced nurses badly.”  And he pointed across the fields toward a hillside where a group of farm-houses and barns stood.  A red flag napped darkly against the sky from the cupola of a barn.

“Is that the hospital?” asked Ailsa, noticing some ambulances parked near by.

“Yes, madam.  You will report to Dr. West.”  He looked at them for a second, shook his head thoughtfully, then saluted and wheeled his horse.

“Pass on, Sanitary!” he added to the driver.

There was a deeply rutted farm road across the fields, guarded by gates which now hung wide open.  Through these the supply waggons and the Commission ambulance rolled, followed slowly by the rain-soaked troopers of the escort.

In front of one of the outhouses a tall, bald-headed, jolly-faced civilian stood in his checked shirt sleeves, washing bloody hands in a tin basin.  To Ailsa’s question he answered: 

“I’m Dr. Hammond of the Sanitary Commission.  Dr. West is in the wards.  Very glad you came, Mrs. Paige; very glad, indeed, Miss Lynden.  Here’s an orderly who’ll show you your quarters—­can’t give you more than one room and one bed.  You’ll get breakfast in that house over there, as soon as it’s ready.  After that come back here to me.  There’s plenty to do,” he added grimly; “we’re just sending fifty patients to Alexandria, and twenty-five to Washington.  Oh, yes, there’s plenty to do—­plenty to do in this God-forsaken land.  And, it isn’t battles that are keeping us busy.”