Ride on in the rain an' the cold, an' I'll go inside the shop an' warm myself by the forge fire." The three boys rode on in sober silence.

The words of the ancient philosopher were soaking in with the rain.
"Suppose we don't come back from Stone River," said Pennington.
"We take our chances, of course," said Dick.
"And suppose what he said about the South should prove true," said Warner, thoughtfully.

"One part of it, at least, is bound to come true.
That phrase of his sticks in my mind: 'Mebbe the South can be whipped, but she can't be moved.' The Southern states, as he says, will be here just the same after the war is over, no matter who wins." But such thoughts as these could not endure long in minds so young.

They passed through the village and soon were in the forests of red cedar.
The rain ceased, but in its place came a thick and heavy fog.

The mud grew deeper than ever.