laid him in the
shelter of his father's quarters. After the engagement, this story was
told through the victorious ranks by the witnesses of her valor, and a
medal was awarded the child by acclamation. She always wore it, and was
as proud of it as a veteran of his ribbons and stars.

But now, in times of peace, the fair flower of her womanhood was
forming. Like a white hyacinth she grew,--a lady to look upon, with
whom, for loveliness, not a lady of the fort could be compared. Not one
of them in courage or unselfishness exceeded her.

The family lived in a little house adjoining the barracks. It was a
home that could boast of nothing beyond comfort and cleanliness;--the
word comfort I use as the poor man understands it. Neither Adolphus nor
Pauline had any worldly goods to bring with them when they came to
Foray. They lived at first, and for a long time, in the barracks; the
little house they now occupied had once been used for the storage of
provisions; but when the war ended, Adolphus succeeded in obtaining
permission to turn it into a dwelling-house. Here the child was
sheltered, and taught the use of a needle; and here she learned to read
and write.

In the great vegetable garden which covered the space between the
prison and the fort was a corner that reflected no great credit on the
authorities. The persons who might reasonably have been expected to
take that neglected bit of ground under their loving care did no such
thing. The beds were weeded by Sandy, the gardener, and now and then a
blossom rewarded that attention; but the flower-patch waited for
Elizabeth.

The gardener knew very well how she prized the pretty flowers;--they
appealed to his own rude nature in a very tender way. He loved to see
the young girl flying down the narrow paths as swiftly as a bird, if
she but spied a bloom from afar. There was a tree whose branches hung
over the wall, every one of them growing, with dreadful perversity,
away from the cold, hard prison-ground which held the roots so fast.
Time was never long enough when she sat in the shade of those branches,
watching Sandy at his work.

By-and-by it happened that the flower-garden was given over to the
charge of the girl. It was natural that she, who had never seen other
flower-beds than these, should, aided by the home-recollections of her
mother, imagine far prettier,--that she should dare suggest to Sandy,
until his patience and his skill were exhausted,--that the final go