son stood for a few moments hand clasped in hand, and then
without trusting himself to look back, the Major walked quickly through
the tent door, just as a heavy boom announced that a fresh attack was
near.

"Gone!" cried Phil, with a piteous cry and outstretched hands, but the
next moment he drew himself up stiffly and marched to the Doctor's side.

"Bravely done, my boy," cried the old man, patting his shoulder. "Now
then, your cap."

"We're not going away?" cried Phil, in dismay.

"Yes, directly."

"But father won't know where to find us again."

"Yes, he will, for he says we are to join the doctors with the wounded
men."

"Then he will know? Yes, I shall like that. They are always so
thirsty. May I take them some water to drink?"

"Indeed you shall, Phil."

Their journey was not long, but it was difficult, for the little army
was advancing, and the old Doctor and his pupil were hardly settled in
their new canvas and waggon quarters before the attack was in full
progress and the bearers were coming in with the wounded, the dying,
and, those whom the doctors pronounced already dead.

It was a terrible time--hours of horror, during which, heedless of the
roar of cannon and the crash of musketry, the busy surgeons toiled on,
till the lines of bandaged sufferers lay increasing fast in the one
calm, comparatively silent spot at the back of the fortifications that
were being attacked.

There was a tent or two as well where the surgeons worked at their
terrible task, and it happened towards the height of the terrible
conflict, when the British soldiers were struggling and gaining their
way step by step, every foot being desperately contested by the brave
army of the French General Montcalm, that Phil was busy in a wide
sheltered spot beneath the enemy's lines, tin cup in one hand, holding
on to the iron handle of a bucket with the other, the bucket pretty full
of water, and swinging between him and a drummer boy.

Those two went steadily on, to stop whenever a beseeching face was
turned to them. Then the pail was set down, Phil dipped the cup and
went down on one knee to hold it to some poor sufferer's lips, always
receiving for his thanks the reverently uttered words, "God bless you,
boy."

The blessings called down upon the little fellow's head came in hundreds
that day, in English and in French, and somehow in the excitement Phil,
after the first few minutes, never saw the horrors by which he was
s