u
can't ask an angel to tell a lie,--no offence to you; so if you can take
the time, and'll do it, I'll stand your everlasting debtor, and shoulder
the responsibility if you're afraid of the weight."

"What sort of a lie?"

"A capital one; listen. I want a young lady to know that I'm wounded in
the arm,--you see? not bad; nor nothing over which she need worry, and
nothing that hurts me much; and I ain't damaged in any other way; legs
not mentioned in this concern,--you understand?" The doctor nodded. "But
it's tied up my hand, so that I have to get you to say all this for me.
I'll be well pretty soon; and, if I can get a furlough, I'll be up in
Philadelphia in a jiffy,--so she can just prepare for the infliction,
&c. Comprendy? And'll you do it?"

"Of course I will, if you don't want the truth told, and the fib'll do
you any good; and, upon my word, the way you're looking I really think
it will. So now for it."

Thus the letter was written, and read, and re-read, to make sure that
there was nothing in it to alarm Sallie; and, being satisfactory on that
head, was finally sent away, to rejoice the poor girl who had waited,
and watched, and hoped for it through such a weary time. When she
answered it, her letter was so full of happiness and solicitude, and a
love that, in spite of herself, spoke out in every line, that Jim
furtively kissed it, and read it into tatters in the first few hours of
its possession; then tucking it away in his hospital shirt, over his
heart, proceeded to get well as fast as fast could be.

"Well," said the doctor, a few weeks afterwards, as Jim was going home
on his coveted sick-leave, "Mr. Thomas Carlyle calls fibs wind-bags. If
that singular remedy would work to such a charm with all my men, I'd
tell lies with impunity. Good by, Jim, and the best of good luck to
you."

"The same to you, Doctor, and I hope you may always find a friend in
need, to lie for you. Good by, and God bless you!" wringing his hand
hard,--"and now, hurrah for home!"

"Hurrah it is!" cried the little surgeon after him, as, happy and proud,
he limped down the ward, and turned his face towards home.

CHAPTER XXI

"_Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm._"

Gray

Jim scarcely felt the jolting of the ambulance over the city stones, and
his impatience and eagerness to get across the intervening space made
dust, and heat, and weariness of travel seem but as feather weights, not
to be cared for, n