closely. The notes of the drum were familiar to him,--and then
he knew that it was the drummer-boy from Tennessee playing the morning
call.

Just then the corporal was relieved from guard duty, and, asking
permission, went at once to Eddie's assistance. He started down the
hill, through the thick underbrush, and upon reaching the bottom of the
ravine, he followed the sound of the drum, and soon found the lad seated
upon the ground, his back leaning against a fallen tree, while his drum
hung upon a bush in front of him.

As soon as the boy saw his rescuer he dropped his drumsticks, and
exclaimed:--

"O Corporal! I am so glad to see you! Give me a drink."

The soldier took his empty canteen, and immediately turned to bring some
water from the brook that he could hear rippling through the bushes near
by, when, Eddie, thinking that he was about to leave him, cried out:--

"Don't leave me, Corporal, I can't walk."

The corporal was soon back with the water, when he discovered that both
the lad's feet had been shot away by a cannon-ball.

After satisfying his thirst, Eddie looked up into the corporal's face
and said:--

"You don't think I shall die, do you? This man said I should not,--he
said the surgeon could cure my feet."

The corporal now looked about him and discovered a man lying in the
grass near by. By his dress he knew him to belong to the Confederate
army. It appeared that he had been shot and had fallen near Eddie.
Knowing that he could not live, and seeing the condition of the
drummer-boy, he had crawled to him, taken off his buckskin suspenders,
and had corded the little fellow's legs below the knees, and then he had
laid himself down and died.

While Eddie was telling the corporal these particulars, they heard the
tramp of cavalry coming down the ravine, and in a moment a scout of the
enemy was upon them, and took them both prisoners.

The corporal requested the officer in charge to take Eddie up in front
of him, and he did so, carrying the lad with great tenderness and care.
When they reached the Confederate camp the little fellow was dead.

A FLAG INCIDENT

BY M. M. THOMAS (ADAPTED)

When marching to Chattanooga the corps had reached a little wooded
valley between the mountains. The colonel, with others, rode ahead,
and, striking into a bypath, suddenly came upon a secluded little cabin
surrounded by a patch of cultivated ground.

At the door an old woman, eighty years of age, was sup