They were grisly rumours.  In the neat wards of the Farm Hospital, with its freshly swept and sprinkled floors, its cots in rows, its detailed soldier nurses and the two nurses from Sainte Ursula’s Sisterhood, its sick-diet department, its medical stores, its two excellent surgeons, these rumours found little credence.

And now, here in the vicinity, Ailsa’s delicate nostrils shrank from the stench arising from the “Four Camps”; and she saw the emaciated forms lining the hillside, and she heard the horrible and continuous coughing.

“Do you know,” she said to Letty the next morning, “I am going to write to Miss Dix and inform her of conditions in that camp.”

And she did so, perfectly conscious that she was probably earning the dislike of the entire medical department.  But hundreds of letters like hers had already been sent to Washington, and already the Sanitary Commission was preparing to take hold; so, when at length one morning an acknowledgment of her letter was received, no notice was taken of her offer to volunteer for service in that loathsome camp, but the same mail brought orders and credentials and transportation vouchers for herself and Letty.

Letty was still asleep, but Ailsa went up and waked her when the hour for her tour of duty approached.

“What do you think!” she said excitedly.  “We are to pack up our valises and go aboard the Mary Lane to-morrow.  She sails with hospital stores. What do you think of that?”

“Where are we going?” asked Letty, bewildered.

“You poor, sleepy little thing,” said Ailsa, sitting down on the bed’s shaky edge, “I’m sure I don’t know where we’re going, dear.  Two Protestant nurses are coming here to superintend the removal of our sick boys—­and Dr. West says they are old and ugly, and that Miss Dix won’t have any more nurses who are not over thirty and who are not most unattractive to look at.”

“I wonder what Miss Dix would do if she saw us,” said Letty naively, and sat up in bed; rubbing her velvety eyes with the backs of her hands.  Then she yawned, looked inquiringly at Ailsa, smiled, and swung her slender body out of bed.

While she was doing her hair Ailsa heard her singing to herself.  She was very happy; another letter from Dr. Benton had arrived.

Celia, who had gone to Washington three days before, to see Mr. Stanton, returned that evening with her passes and order for transportation; and to Ailsa’s astonishment and delight she found that the designated boat was the Mary Lane.

But Celia was almost too nervous and too tired to talk over the prospects.

“My dear,” she said wearily, “that drive from the Chain Bridge to Alexandria has mos’ly killed me.  I vow and declare there was never one moment when one wheel was not in a mud hole.  All my bones ache, Honey-bud, and I’m cross with talking to so many Yankees, and—­do you believe me !—­that ve’y horrid Stanton creature gave orders that I was to take the oath!”