ed her husband's attention to
Mary, who was kneeling with clasped hands, in prayer, at the foot of
the bed. In a moment, the little maid rose and came to them, saying,
calmly:

"Mother, I must go back after baby."

"Oh, my child," cried the mother, in agony, "I _cannot_ let you!"

"But, mother, I must," pleaded Mary. "God will care for me."

It was a fearful responsibility. The guns yet roared constantly through
the darkness; the house might now be in flames; it might be filled with
carnage and blood. Mrs. Gibbes turned to her husband. His face was
buried in his hands. Plainly, she must decide it herself. With
streaming eyes, she looked at Mary.

"Come here, my child," she called through her sobs. Mary fell upon her
mother's neck. One long, passionate embrace, in which all a mother's
love and devotion were poured out, and the clinging arms were opened
without a word. Mary sprang up, kissed her father's forehead, and sped
forth on her dangerous mission of love.

The rain had now ceased, but the night was still dark and full of
terrors, for through the trees she saw the frequent flashes of the great
guns. The woods were filled with the booming echoes, so that cannon
seemed to be on every hand. She flew on with all speed. Soon she heard
the crashing trees ahead, and knew that in a moment she would be once
more face to face with death. She did not falter. Now she was again in
the fierce whirlwind! All around her the shot howled and shrieked. On
every side branches fell crashing to the earth. A cannon-ball plunged
into the ground close beside her, cast over her a heap of mud, and threw
her down. She sprang up and pressed on with redoubled vigor. Not even
_that_ ball could make her turn back.

She reached the house. She ran to the room where the little child
usually slept. The bed was empty! Distracted, she flew from chamber to
chamber. Suddenly she remembered that this night he had been given to
another nurse. Up into the third story she hurried, and, as she pushed
open the door, the little fellow, sitting up in bed, cooed to her and
put out his hands.

With the tears raining down her cheeks, Mary wrapped the babe warmly
and started down the stairs. Out into the darkness once more; onward
with her precious burden, through cannon-roar, through shot and shell!
Three times she passed through this iron storm. The balls still swept
the forest; the terrific booming filled the air.

With the child pressed tightly to her