sick I did all I could for him. He was not strong when
he was ordered back into the ranks, and the day before that night, I
carried all his luggage besides my own on our march. Towards night
we went in on double quick, and though the luggage began to feel very
heavy, everybody else was tired, too; and as for Jemmie, if I had not
lent him an arm now and then he would have dropped by the way. I was all
tired out when we came into camp, and then it was Jemmie's turn to be
sentry. I would take his place; but I was too tired, father. I could not
have kept awake if a gun had been pointed at my head; but I did not know
it until--well, until it was too late."

"God be thanked" interrupted Mr. Owen, reverently, "I knew Bennie was
not the boy to sleep carelessly at his post."

"They tell me to-day that I have a short reprieve, 'time to write to
you,' the good Colonel says. Forgive him, Father, he only does his duty;
he would gladly save me if he could; and do not lay my death against
Jemmie. The poor boy is heart-broken, and does nothing but beg and
entreat them to let him die in my place.

"I can't bear to think of mother and Blossom. Comfort them, Father! Tell
them I die as a brave boy should, and that, when the war is over, they
will not be ashamed of me, as they must be now. God help me! It is very
hard to bear! Good-bye, father, God seems near and dear to me; not at
all as if he wished me to perish forever, but as if he felt sorry for
his poor sinful, broken-hearted child, and would take me to be with him
and my Savior in a better life."

A deep sigh burst from Mr. Owen's heart. "Amen," he said, solemnly,
"amen."

"To-night, in the early twilight, I shall see the cows all coming home
from the pasture, and precious little Blossom standing on the back
stoop, waiting for me! But I shall never, never come! God bless you all!
Forgive your poor Bennie!"

Late that night the door of the "back stoop" opened softly and a little
figure glided out and down the footpath that led to the road by the
mill. She seemed rather flying than walking, turning her head neither to
the right nor left, looking only now and then to heaven, and folding her
hands is if in prayer. Two hours later the same young girl stood at the
mill depot, watching the coming of the night train; and the conductor,
as he reached down to lift her into the car, wondered at the
tear-stained face that was upturned toward the dim lantern he held in
his hand. A few que