can't put my arms around
you, boy. I haven't any left."

Barry's shudder shook the stretcher.

"Dad, dad, oh, dad!" he whispered, over and over again.

"It's all right," whispered his father. "We must not forget we're
soldiers. Help me to keep up, boy. I'm not very strong."

That pitiful word did for Barry what nothing else could do. He lifted
his head, stood up and drew a deep breath.

"Sure thing, dad," he said, in a clear, steady voice. "I mustn't keep
you."

He motioned to the bearers. Then suddenly recollecting that his duty
would call him away from his father, he turned to the M. O., an agony of
supplication in his voice.

"Oh, doctor, must I leave him here?" he asked in a low tone.

Just then an orderly came running up to him, and, saluting, said:

"Sir, the Commanding Officer says you are to remain behind with your
father--till--till--"

"Until you are sent for," said the M. O. "I will see to that."

"Where's the Commanding Officer?" cried Barry, starting forward.

"He has gone off somewheres, sir. He was sorry he couldn't come himself,
but he was called away. He sent that message to you."

"Doctor, will you remember to thank the Commanding Officer for me?" he
said briefly, and turned to follow his father into the ambulance, which
he discovered to be in charge of his friend, the sergeant of the R. A.
M. C.

At the hospital he was received with every mark of solicitous care. He
was made to feel that he was among friends.

"How long, doctor?" he asked, after the doctor had finished his
examination.

"Not long, I'm afraid. A few hours, perhaps a day. He will not suffer
though," said the doctor. "But," he added, taking Barry by the arm, "he
is very weak, remember, and must not be excited."

"I know, doctor," said Barry, quietly. "I won't worry him."

Through the morning Barry sat by his father's cot, giving him, under
the directions of the nurse, such stimulants as he needed, now and then
speaking a quiet, cheery word.

Often his father opened his eyes and smiled at him.

"Good to see you there, my boy. That was my only grief. I feared I might
not see you again. Thank the good God that he allowed me to see you."

"He is good, dad, isn't He? Good to me; good to us both."

"Yes, He is good," said his father, and fell asleep. For almost two
hours he slept, a sleep of exhaustion, due to the terrific strain of the
past forty-eight hours, and woke refreshed, calm and strong.

"You are a lot b