is bed and looked, and saw Atwater sitting in his bunk, with
a book in his hand, reading by the dim light. The card-playing was going
on close by, and jokes and oaths and laughter were heard on all sides;
but Atwater heeded no one, and no one heeded him.

Only Frank: he regarded the still, earnest soldier a long time, silently
admiring his calmness and strength, so perfectly expressed in his mild,
firm, kindly, taciturn face, and wondering what book he had.

"What are you reading, Atwater?" he at length asked.

"My Bible," replied the soldier, giving him a grave, pleasant smile.

Frank felt pained,--almost jealous. I can't tell how it is, but we don't
like too well the sight of our companions cheerfully performing those
duties which we neglect or hate. Cain slew Abel for that cause.

"I didn't know you read that," said Frank.

"I never have too much. But my wife----" The soldier's voice always sunk
with a peculiarly tender thrill whenever he spoke of his bride of an
hour, or rather of a minute, whom he had wedded and left in such haste.
"She slipped a Bible in my knapsack unbeknown to me. I had a letter from
her to-day, in which she asked me if I read it. So I must read it, and
say yes, if only to please her. But the truth is," said Atwater, with a
brightening eye, "I find good in it I never thought was there before."

Frank had no word to answer him. Conscience-stricken, sick at heart,
miserable as he could be, he could only lie there in his berth, and look
at the brave soldier, and envy him.

He remembered how, not long ago, when his mother's wishes were more to
him than they had been of late, he had desired to read his Testament for
her sake, but had not dared to do so openly, fearing the sneers of his
comrades. And his mother, in every letter, repeated her injunction, "My
son, read your Testament;"--which had become to him as the idle wind. For
never now, either by stealth or openly, did he read that book.

Yet here was this plain, honest soldier,--many called him dull,--for whom
a word from one he loved was sufficient; he took the book as if that word
were law. And the looks, the jests, which Frank had feared, were nothing
to him.

Ashamed, remorseful, angry with himself, the boy lay thinking what he
should do. A few bitter moments only. Then, opening his knapsack, he took
out his Testament, and sitting in his bunk so that the light would shine
on the page, opened it and read. His companions saw, and were