n his
ward, to every one of whom she was sympathetic and helpful.

Her case was hard. She and her husband, who was old and feeble, had just
three sons, two strong and vigorous, one a cripple. Their two vigorous
sons enlisted together, and fell in the charge on Marie's Hill, within
ten feet and ten minutes of each other. William was buried on the
battle-field, and she had come to see James die in hospital.

When all was over and her boy was carried to the dead house, they
brought her to me, and I have never heard such pathetic, eloquent
expressions of grief as those she poured forth in that little, rough,
barrack-room.

"Oh, William! William!" she sobbed, "You are lying, to-night, in your
bloody grave, and your mother will never know where it is! and you,
James! you were my first-born, but I cannot go to you now, where you lie
in the darkness among the dead! Oh, but it is a sad story I must carry
to your old father, to bring his gray hairs in sorrow to the grave. Who
can we lean upon, in our old age? Who will take care of Johnny when we
are gone? Oh, it is a hard, hard lot."

She wrung her hands, bowed over her knees, in a paroxysm of tears, then
raised herself, threw back her head, and exclaimed. "But oh! boys dear,
wouldn't I rather you were where you are this night, than that you had
thrown down your guns and run!"

CHAPTER LXIV.

TWO KINDS OF APPRECIATION.

Looking down the long vista of memory, to the many faces turned to me
from beds of pain, I find few to which I can attach a name, and one I
seem never to have looked upon but once. It is a long, sallow face,
surmounted by bushy, yellow hair; it has a clear, oval outline, and
straight nose, brown eyes and a down of young manhood on the wasted,
trembling lips; I knew it then, as the face of a fever patient, but not
one to whom I had rendered any special service, and felt surprised when
the trembling lips said, in a pitiful, pleading way.

"We boys has been a talkin' about you!"

"Have you, my dear--and what have you boys been saying about me?"

"We've jist been a sayin' that good many ladies has been kind to us, but
none uv 'em ever loved us but you!"

"Well, my dear, I do not know how it is with the other ladies, but I am
sure I do love you very, very dearly! You do not know half how much I
love you."

"Oh, yes, we do! yes, we do! we know 'at you don't take care uv us
'cause it's your juty! you jist do it 'cause you love to!"

"That is it exa