I do not blame them." The good
lady put down on her lap the night-shirt she was making. "I saw how
it happened. The girl was carried away by her pity. And, my dear, her
capability astonished me. One might have thought that she had always
been a nurse. The experience was a dreadful one for me--what must
it have been for her. After the operation was over, I followed her
downstairs to where she was standing with her father in front of the
building, waiting for their carriage. I felt that I must say something
to her, for in all my life I have never seen a nobler thing done. When I
saw her there, I scarcely knew what to say. Words seemed so inadequate.
It was then three o'clock, and she had been working steadily in that
place since morning. I am sure she could not have borne it much longer.
Sheer courage carried her through it, I know, for her hand trembled so
when I took it, and she was very pale. She usually has color, I believe.
Her father, the Colonel, was with her, and he bowed to me with such
politeness. He had stood against the wall all the while we had worked,
and he brought a mattress for us. I have heard that his house is
watched, and that they have him under suspicion for communicating
with the Confederate leaders." Mrs. Brice sighed. "He seems such a fine
character. I hope they will not get into any trouble."

"I hope not, mother," said Stephen.

It was two mornings later that Judge Whipple and Stephen drove to the
Iron Mountain depot, where they found a German company of Home Guards
drawn up. On the long wooden platform under the sheds Stephen
caught sight of Herr Korner and Herr Hauptmann amid a group of their
countrymen. Little Korner came forward to clasp his hands. The tears ran
on his cheeks, and he could not speak for emotion. Judge Whipple, grim
and silent, stood apart. But he uncovered his head with the others when
the train rolled in. Reverently they entered a car where the pine boxes
were piled one on another, and they bore out the earthly remains of
Captain Carl Richter.

Far from the land of his birth, among those same oaks on Bloody Hill
where brave Lyon fell, he had gladly given up his life for the new
country and the new cause he had made his own.

That afternoon in the cemetery, as the smoke of the last salute to a
hero hung in the flickering light and drifted upward through the
great trees, as the still air was yet quivering with the notes of the
bugle-call which is the soldiers requiem, a