The old antique shop had been closed for years, but a few curiosities were left to gather dust in the attic. Dim daylight from the window filtered through a veil of cobwebs and fell on a pair of battered boots that hung on the back wall. Wiping away a layer of dirt, I examined the creased and wrinkled leather and soles still caked with the dust and mud of some forgotten field. I thought of the Civil War as I read the crudely lettered label with a faded name and "Boots 100 years old".