again up the opposite hill in an odd semblance of hollow squares, ranks,
and columns. A vague recollection of the fateful slope of Snake River
came over him. It was intensified as Miss Sally, who was still preceding
him, suddenly stopped before an isolated mound bearing a broken marble
shaft and a pedestal with the inscription, "Chester Brooks." A few
withered garlands and immortelles were lying at its base, but encircling
the broken shaft was a perfectly fresh, unfaded wreath.

"You never told me he was buried here!" said Courtland quickly, half
shocked at the unexpected revelation. "Was he from this State?"

"No, but his regiment was," said Miss Sally, eying the wreath
critically.

"And this wreath, is it from you?" continued Courtland gently.

"Yes, I thought yo' 'd like to see something fresh and pooty, instead of
those stale ones."

"And were they also from you?" he asked even more gently.

"Dear no! They were left over from last anniversary day by some of the
veterans. That's the only one I put there--that is--I got Mr. Champney
to leave it here on his way to his house. He lives just yonder, yo'
know."

It was impossible to resist this invincible naivete. Courtland bit
his lip as the vision arose before him of this still more naif English
admirer bringing hither, at Miss Sally's bidding, the tribute which
she wished to place on the grave of an old lover to please a THIRD