hoved it under the bed. The trunk resisted slightly and he lost one
carpet slipper and considerable breath in the struggle. Limping back to
the kitchen and seeing that little Miss Engel still slumbered, he eased
his frame into a chair and composed himself to literary composition, not
in the least disturbed by the shouts of roistering sidewalk comedians
that filtered up to him from down below in front of the house, or by the
distant clatter of intermittent traffic over the cobbly spine of Second
Avenue, half a block away. For some time he wrote, with a most scratchy
pen; and this is what he wrote:

"TO THE EDITOR OF THE SUN, CITY.

"_Dear Sir:_ The undersigned would state that he served two years
and nine months--until wounded in action--in the Fighting Two
Hundred and Tenth New York Infantry, and has been much interested
to see what other comrades wrote for the papers regarding same in
connection with the Rebellion War of North and South respectively.
I would state that during the battle of Chickamauga I was for a
while lying near by to a Confederate soldier--name unknown--who
was dying on account of a wound in the chest. By his request I
gave him a drink of water from my canteen, he dying shortly
thereafter. Being myself wounded--right knee shattered by a
Minie ball--I was removed to a field hospital; but before doing
so I brought away this man's knapsack for a keepsake of the
occasion. Some years later I found in said knapsack a letter,
which previous to then was overlooked by me. I inclose herewith a
copy of said letter, which it may be interesting for reading
purposes by surviving comrades.

"Respectfully yours,

"JACOB SPECK,

"Late Corporal L Company,

"Fighting Two Hundred and Tenth New York, U. S. A."

With deliberation and squeaky emphasis the pen progressed slowly across
the paper, while the corporal, with his left hand, held flat the dead
man's ancient letter before him, intent on copying it. Hard words
puzzled him and long words daunted him, and he was making a long job of
it when there were steps in the hall without. There entered breezily
Miss Hortense Engel, who was the oldest of all the multiplying Engels,
pretty beyond question and every inch American, having the gift of
wearing Lower Sixth Avenue stock designs in a way to make them seem
Upper Fifth Avenue models. Miss Engel's face w