-he said he war. Oh! ef his mother know'd he war
yere! 't would break her heart,--break her heart!" moaned the man, still
wrapping the blanket about the boy.

James closed his eyes to shut out the painful scene, and the thought of
his own mother came to him. Would it not break _her_ heart to know he
was wounded? to hear, perhaps, that he was dead? He must not die; for
her sake, he must not die! ONE only could help him, and so he prayed.
Again he prayed that the Good Father would come to him, and again the
Good Father came!

"What is _ye_ a doin' yere, honey,--a little one loike ye?" asked a kind
voice at his side.

He looked up. It was an old black woman, dressed in a faded woollen
gown, a red and yellow turban, and a pair of flesh-colored stockings
which Nature herself had given her. She was very short, almost as broad
as she was long, and had a face as large round as the moon,--and it
looked very much like the moon when it shines through a black cloud;
for, though darker than midnight, it was all over light,--that kind of
light which shines through the faces of good people.

"I am wounded; I want water," said the little boy, feebly.

"Ye shill hab it, honey," said the woman, giving him some from a bucket
she had set on the ground.

"Guv some ter _my_ lad," cried the man who sat by the dead boy; "he's
been a cryin' fur it all night--all night! Didn't ye yere him?"

"No, I didn't, massa. I hain't been yere more'n a hour, and a tousand's
a heap fur one ole ooman ter 'tend on," she replied, filling a gourd
from the bucket, and going with it to the dead boy.

She stooped down and held the water to his lips, but in a moment started
back, and cried out in a frightened way,--"He'm dead! _He_ can't drink
no more!"

"He hain't dead!" yelled the man, fiercely; "he sha'n't die! Guv _me_
the water, ole 'ooman."

With a trembling hand, he tried to give it to his son. He held it to the
boy's lips for a moment, then, dropping the gourd, and sinking to the
ground, he cried out,--"It'll kill his mother,--kill his mother! Oh!
oh!"

"He'm better off, massa," said the woman, in a voice full of pity; "he'm
whar he kin drink foreber ob de bery water ob life."

"Gwo away, ole 'ooman,--gwo away,--doan't speak ter me!" moaned the man,
throwing his arms around the body of his boy, and burying his face in
the blanket he had wrapped about him.

Brushing her tears away with her apron, the woman turned to James, and
said,--"Whar is