lind me; but
that I may meet my death like a man. I thought, father, that it might
have been on the battlefield, for my country, and that, when I fell, it
would be fighting gloriously; but to be shot down like a dog for nearly
betraying it,--to die for neglect of duty! Oh, father, I wonder the very
thought does not kill me! But I shall not disgrace you. I am going to
write you all about it; and when I am gone, you may tell my comrades; I
cannot now.

You know I promised Jemmie Carr's mother I would look after her boy; and,
when he fell sick, I did all I could for him. He was not strong when he
was ordered back into the ranks, and the day before that night I carried
all his baggage, besides my own, on our march. Toward night we went in
on double-quick, and the baggage began to feel very heavy. Everybody was
tired; and as for Jemmie, if I had not lent him an arm now and then, he
would have dropped by the way. I was all tired out when we came into
camp; and then it was Jemmie's turn to be sentry, and I could take his
place; but I was too tired, father. I could not have kept awake if a gun
had been pointed at my head; but I did not know it until,--well, until it
was too late.

They tell me to-day that I have a short reprieve,--given to me by
circumstances,--"time to write to you," our good colonel says. Forgive
him, father, he only does his duty; he would gladly save me if he could;
and do not lay my death up against Jemmie. The poor boy is
broken-hearted, and does nothing but beg and entreat them to let him die
in my stead. I can't bear to think of mother and Blossom. Comfort them,
father! Tell them I die as a brave boy should, and that, when the war is
over, they will not be ashamed of me, as they must be now. God help me:
it is very hard to bear! Good-by, father. To-night, in the early
twilight, I shall see the cows all coming home from pasture, and precious
little Blossom standing on the back stoop, waiting for me,--but I shall
never, never come! God bless you all!

"God be thanked!" said Mr. Owen reverently; "I knew Bennie was not the
boy to sleep carelessly."

Late that night a little figure glided out of the house and down the
path. Two hours later the conductor of the southward mail lifted her
into a car at Mill Depot. Next morning she was in New York, and the next
she was admitted to the White House at Washington. "Well, my child,"
said the President in pleasant, cheerful tones, "what do