"Mamma, has Isaac ever found his wife and children?"

"No," said Mrs. Gray; "he has just come from Kentucky. He found no trace of them; but that is all we know; no one dares to ask him questions.".

CHAPTER IX.

OWEN FAIRFAX AND ALEXANDRIA.

S Mrs. Gray opened the house door,

Owen Fairfax came forward to meet her. Now that he had taken off his slouched hat, Patty could see that he had a noble-looking face. He was very thin; and his soft blue eyes and. delicate lip had a look of sweet sadness.

"I would have come to see you, as I went up the hill, Owen," said Mrs. Gray, "but I did not think you would remember me; and if you did, I thought perhaps it would be a sad memory.' "I do not forget," answered the lad; "all things are sad, and all I have is the past.' Ah," said Mrs. Gray, "it made my tears come when I heard that all your beautiful cousins were gone! And here is my little girl, Owen, about as old as you were when I saw you last; and I thought Virginia would be so fond of her!"

"Virginia died of a broken heart," said Owen, coughing a little, and taking Patty's hand kindly. "She lost her four sons in battle. They were only children: the oldest only twenty, and the youngest not sixteen. We were proud of them. But Virginia ought to have been born at the North. She thought we were all wrong; and she never spoke to her husband after he put on his shoulder-straps."

The

Mrs. Gray did not speak. She knew that families were divided at the South. Very lately, in Baltimore, she had seen a lady from Mississippi, who had lost eight children-seven of them fighting on the field, some for the North, and some for the South; the eighth, a daughter, broken-hearted over the graves of all. mother herself had clung to the Union flag, and her husband commanded against Farragut. It was a sad, sad story; but it did not touch her heart like those few words from Owen. Virginia, had been her favorite pupil—a gay and beautiful girl, not serious, but right-minded; and to her, so young and fair, the last few years had brought all this sorrow. She was glad when Patty spoke.

"Mamma says you have been here all through the war, Mr. Fairfax. Did that make you so sick? Did you want to go away?"

"I don't think it made me sick," said Owen, with a smile. "I was not made to last long, and I was rather glad not to go away. If I had fought, it must have been for Virginia, and I don't know about that."

"Why must it?" said Patty, wondering.

"My country, right or wrong," said Owen, proudly.

"I saw that in the cabin of an English ship, once," said Patty: "the letters were made of bayonets; but I didn't like it, and I told the sailors so."

Owen did not answer; but he gazed sadly at the little girl, as if his thoughts were far

away.

"What did you do while you were shut up here?" said Patty.

"If you would like to see, you may come up to my room," said Owen, rousing, and putting out his hand.

The par

Patty took it, and trotted up stairs. lor below was still a pretty room, with a warm

carpet and some pleasant pictures; but nothing could be colder than Owen's chamber. A bed

and two chairs, without even a strip of carpet, were its only furniture. In one corner there was a small shaving-glass, and under it a wooden stool, holding a basin and ewer. In one of the windows a pine table was standing, and on it a microscope.

Mrs. Gray had followed them.

She gave

one look at the bare room; but she only said, "Oh, Owen !"

"You see I could not help it," said the boy. "I was fond of this before the war; and after they all died, and I grew worse, I sold one thing after another to get new slides, and to repair the stand. Your officers were very good to me. When they found out what I liked, they sometimes brought me what I wanted. Look here, Patty," he added, lifting the little girl into a chair; "what is that?"

"It is a tidy," said Patty, promptly, taking one look at a tiny thing that Owen slipped under the microscope. "It is just the commonest tidy that ever was. Anybody can make one like that. But where is it?" she added, drawing