herself, and made no effort
to repair the ragged bullet tear South Mountain left in his jacket, and
in which he had at his worst times such childlike pride as in another and
well-known general had once amused him.

He was just now in one of his best conditions and was clearly enjoying
the pipe he used but rarely. Ann at his feet on the porch-step read aloud
to him with indifference to all but the man she now and then looked up to
with the loving tenderness his brief betterment fed with illusory hope.

"What's that, Ann?" he exclaimed; "Grant at Chattanooga! That's John's
ideal General. Didn't he write about him at--where was it? Oh! Belmont."

"Yes, after Belmont, James."

"When does Mark Rivers go back?"

"To-morrow. He is always so out of spirits here that I am really relieved
when he returns to the Sanitary Commission." He made no reply, and she
continued her reading.

"Isn't that Leila with Rivers, Ann?"

"Yes. He likes to walk with her."

"So would any man." A faint smile--very rare of late--showed in her
pleased upward look at the face--the changed face--she loved.

The pair of whom they spoke were lost to view in the forest.

"And you are glad to go?" said Leila to Rivers.

"Yes, I am. I can hardly say glad, but now that your uncle is, so to
speak, lost to me and your aunt absorbed in her one task and the duties
she has taken up again, our pleasant Dante lessons are set aside, and
what is there left of the old intellectual life which is gone--gone?"

"But," said Leila gaily, "you have the church and my humble society. Why,
you are really learning to walk, as you did not until of late."

Making no reply to her personal remark, he was silent for a moment, and
then said with slow articulation and to her surprise, for he rarely spoke
of himself, "Nine years ago I came here, a man broken in mind and body.
This life and these dear friends have made me as strong as I can ever
hope to be. But the rest--the rest. I know what power God has given me
to bring souls to him. I can influence men--the lowly and--well, others,
as few can. I cannot live in cities--I dare not risk the failure in
health; and yet, I want--I want a larger field. I found it when your
aunt's liberality sent me to the army. There in my poor way I can serve
my country--and that is much to me." He was silent.

"But," she said, "is there not work enough here? and the war cannot last
much longer. Don't think you must ever leave us."

"I sha