He did not know just where the Southern army lay, but he did not believe that he would come in contact with any of its flankers.
His horse was so good and true, that earlier than he had hoped, he was approaching Pendleton.

The moon was up now, and every foot of the ground was familiar.

He crossed brooks in which he and Harry Kenton and other boys of his age had waded--but he had never seen them so low before--and he marked the tree in which he had shot his first squirrel.
It had not been so many months since he had been in Pendleton, and yet it seemed years and years.

Three great battles in which seventy or eighty thousand men had fallen were enough to make anybody older.
Dick paused on the crest of a little hill and looked toward the place where his mother's house stood.

He had come just in this way in the winter, and he looked forward to another meeting as happy.