Excerpt from Between the Lines: A Story of the War
Shading her eyes with a slender white hand, a young girl stood gazing eastward over a broad and beautiful landscape. The sun was fast sinking behind the wooded heights at her back, and throwing long shadows over the green carpet of the lawn. It was a picturesque old place, that Virginia homestead. The house was large, two storied, with broad central hallway and heavy wings; dull red brick showing here and there through the thick veil of vines; a wide and sheltered piazza with white wooden railing and chubby balusters; a broad flight of steps leading down to the circular driveway, and flanked by white buttresses ornamented with big florid vases of the same material and ponderous pattern as the sturdy little squat balusters that supported the railing. No plants or flowers blooming in the vases to-day, and this not the only evidence of a neglect that was perhaps inevitable. The drive itself was furrowed here and there with gullies made by recent rains. The line of demarcation between flowerbed and lawn had long since become blurred in the encroachments of the thick grass or swifter creeping plants.
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