ched.

"Nor do I," said the private. "Some we like, and some we don't, without
the reason for it appearing altogether clear. I liked you even when you
didn't please me very well."

"You mean when----" began Frank, stammeringly.

"Yes, you know when. It used to hurt me to see and hear you--but that is
past."

"I hope so," said Frank, from his heart.

"Yes. And I like you better than ever now. And do you know, Frank, I
don't think I could say to you what I am going to, if you hadn't been in
trouble yourself, lately? That makes me feel I can come near you."

"O! are you in trouble, Abe?"

"Yes,"--with another mild, serious smile. "Not just such trouble as you
were in, though. It is nothing on my own account. It is on _hers_." And
the soldier's voice sunk, as it always did, when he alluded to his wife.

"You have heard from her?" asked Frank, with sympathizing interest.

"Nothing but good news; nothing but good news," said Atwater, pressing
the pocket where his letters were. "I wish you could know that girl's
heart. I am just beginning to know it. She has blessed me! She is a
simple creature--not so smart as some; but she has, what is better than
all that, a heart, Frank!"

Frank, not knowing what else to say, answered earnestly, that he was sure
of it.

"She has brought me to know this book," the soldier continued, his
features tremblingly alive with emotion. "I never looked into it much
before. I never thought much about it--whether it was true or not. But
whether it is true or not, there is something in it that reaches me
here,"--laying his hand on his heart,--"something that sinks into me. I
can't tell how. It gives me comfort."

Frank, still not knowing how to reply, murmured that he was glad to hear
it.

"Now, this is what I have been wanting to say to somebody," Abram went
on, in a calm but suppressed voice. "I am going into battle to-morrow.
Don't think I am afraid. I have no fear. But of one thing I am tolerably
certain. I shall not come out of that fight unhurt."

The smile which accompanied these words, quite as much as the words
themselves, alarmed Frank.

"Don't say that!" he entreated. "You are a little low-spirited, Abe;
that's it."

"O, no! I am not low-spirited in the least. My country demands
sacrifices. I, for one, am willing to die." This was said with singular
calmness and cheerfulness. But the soldier's voice failed him, as he
added, "It is only when I think of her----"

Frank, p