the air, and myriads of birds made sweetest music. Stopping beside
some sparkling spring to lunch and dine, chatting gayly all day,
growing thoughtful and silent, as, borne upon the breeze of evening,
there came to us the whispering voices of memory, renewing the sorrow
of parting, awakening afresh anxious fears for the absent.

We slept at any house along the road where night overtook us, always
expecting and finding a welcome. In these homes, as everywhere else
over the South, sorrow and care had taken up their abode. Haggard,
weary-looking women, from whose hearts and homes joy had departed with
the dear ones who had gone forth to battle, plied us with eager
questions. We related to them all we knew of military movements. But
it was very little, and we could give them no tidings of their own.

The third day brought us to Marion, where, at the pleasant home of
Mrs. McAllister, we awaited further orders.

I have very pleasant recollections of Marion, and of the elegant homes
where I was so delightfully entertained. But already love for my
chosen work had reached (so people told me) the height of infatuation.
Between me and every offered pleasure appeared the pale, reproachful
faces of the suffering soldiers. My place was beside them, and I
longed for the summons.

A letter from Dr. McAllister to his wife announced the establishment
of a hospital post in Ringgold, Georgia, but counselled our waiting
until "things could be straightened out." I _could not_ wait, so left
the same evening, arriving in time to organize my own department,
which, as the assistants had not been changed, and fell easily into
their places, was not so difficult as at Gainesville. Besides, we