5 ACORN ter cook, to darn socks more neatly, and to fill what had almost been her "Hopeless Box." In her spare moments she would write "Sonnets of Adoration." Several days went by, however, and nothing definite was settled. He was humble and bashful, she decided, and needed only a little encouragement. Then a brilliant thought entered her mind. She would send him a valentine to remind him of Cupid's presence at this season. With a tremulous hand she wrote an address on the missive and mailed it. A few days later she received the following letter: "My Dear Elizabeth: "I received your kind remembrance, and assure you that I truly appreciate the spirit that prompted its giving. You can never know what it means to me to feel that mutual sympathies exist between us. You are far above me have always been-but I shall worship you forever. "If all is agreeable, I suggest that our elopement take place Saturday night. Lovingly, Saturday night was accordingly decided upon as the, time for the romance's happy beginning. They were to make' a short trip; leaving word behind so as to make a sensation for the Sunday Brookville News. Friday night she saw the professor walking with .one. of the school girls. She felt a pang at first,: but had only to look at her last letter and read of his undying love for her. Saturday she nervously left the house for the appointed place. He, it seemed, was already there. She could see a figure, with suitcase in hand, expectantly waiting. Elizabeth's heart gave a bound and she quickened her pace. Suddenly, and very suddenly, she came to a stop, exclaiming "Herbert?" "Elizabeth!" After all, there is no great difference between Herbert Black and Bert Blake. A nervous "loveress," as well as a postman, would likely make a mistake. For some reason, which she herself knows best, Elizabeth Brown poetical, sentimental; hopeful eloped with Herbert Black. The Brookville Sunday News received its sensation. K. L., '15. ACORN 6 The Colonel's Son "Good-by, my dear, and God bless you and the children," said Colonel Rollins. He was bidding farewell to his beloved wife and family. The call for men had sounded, and he was off to the war. The oldest son, Robert Rollins, Jr., was watching the father with curious eyes. They were not sorrowful eyes, but eyes full of admiration. They were fixed upon the gray uniform and brass buttons. His father was his ideal. Why could he not follow in his footsteps? Why could he not wear a gray suit and go with his father? He could act as drummer boy. Three years had passed and the boy was now enlisted in the Northern army, wearing the blue uniform and fighting for the freedom of the poor, abused black slave. He felt that the cause of the North was just and he joined the ranks of the Union. In his work he feared he would meet his father who thought him safe at home. The boy's mind was troubled. He might at any time meet his father face to face on the battlefield. He might some day think he was killing a dreaded enemy, then find out, too late, it was his own father. The very thought haunted him. He would not fight, but act as a spy, thus be on his guard and keep his position a secret from his father. His life would now be hard and full of many thrilling experiences, but he loved it well and would fight it through. "You may find out the plans of the army camped on the east side of the river," were the orders given him. He must find out the enemy's plans before the break of day. Duty called him to do it. He found his way to the camp of the enemy.. He heard a voice instructing the soldiers. He listened. It sounded familiar. Yes, it was the voice of his father. His brain whirled. Should he stay and risk the chance of being captured or should he return to his own camp without obeying instructions. He hesitated only a moment. He would stay. He heard the plans. He might now make his "get-away." He was quietly creeping away when a voice called out, "Halt, or I fire." He would not stop, but must take his chances. The voice commanded him again to stop. He obeyed. He was no coward. He would face them. He was marched into the colonel's tent. When the colonel beheld the boy's face in full, he shrank back with a cry of horror. He had left a boy like that at home. Was this lad his son? He asked the boy's name, but the lad refused to give it. The boy was tried and condemned to be shot as a spy at sunrise. The morning dawned and the lad had made no confession. He was marched out under cover of ten muskets. He would die as a brave