e midst of all this horrible excitement?"

"Yes; I don't mind that much, only seeing the poor men brought here
wounded. I say, how they like me to go and talk to them when their
wounds have been tied up! Look here!"

"What have you got there?" said the Doctor, as the boy pulled something
from his breast.

"Letter," said Phil, shortly. "This makes six I'm to take care of and
send when we go away."

"Six letters?"

"Yes; they're only written with pencil, and I don't remember the men now
who gave them to me, but they were all wounded, and they said I was to
send them home."

"Poor fellows," said the Doctor, with a sigh.

"Yes," said Phil. "I mean to show them to father some day and ask him
to help me to send them. Ah! Here he is!"

For at that minute the Major hurried into the tent.

"Just to say good-bye to you, Phil, my boy."

"Oh, father," cried the little fellow, with his face clouding over;
"don't go away and leave me! You're always saying good-bye."

"Phil!" sternly.

"I forgot," cried the boy. "Yes. I know. You're going on duty. But
you'll not be long, father?"

"Not a minute longer than I can help, my boy. Now go. I want to speak
to Dr Martin."

"Yes, father," and Phil ran to the opening of the tent door.

"You are not hurt?" cried Dr Martin, anxiously.

"Not even scratched, Doctor, but the great moment is near, and I was
obliged to see my boy once more. I dare not send you both away, for it
would only be into the hands of the enemy--perhaps amongst their savage
camp followers. You have given up practising for years, but you are a
certificated physician and surgeon, and the doctors here will receive
you and my boy, glad of your help. While if matters go wrong with the
General in a desperate venture, you will be where the wounded are being
collected, and the French will respect you."

"Yes," said the Doctor. "Then you wish me to join the field hospital--
when?"

"As soon as I am gone. You understand?"

"Yes. You may trust me."

"I know that. Heaven protect you both. Now I can feel at rest. Phil!"

The boy dashed back, to spring upon his knee.

"Now, quick, my boy," cried the Major, kissing him. "Say good-bye like
a soldier's son."

"Yes, father; but when--"

"Phil!"

"I know, father," cried the boy, hastily drawing himself up. "Good-bye.
So glad to see you back."

"I know, my boy. There, we've kissed as women do; now shake hands like
a man."

Father and