ang for them, and was never weary, never ill-tempered.

When once he had had enough to eat--and for many days the men thought
that he never could get enough--he became the healthiest and ruggedest
of boys, and beyond doubt one of the happiest that ever breathed.

II.

THE BOX FROM UP NORTH.

One day a box came from the North. It was addressed to "George
Washington McKinley Jones, care of Colonel Austin;" but as G. W. was
incapable of reading he sharply questioned the messenger who delivered
it.

"How you know dis 'blongs ter me?" asked he.

"There's your name," said the messenger.

"Whar?"

The patient messenger traced the boy's illustrious name.

"What's dar 'sides my name?"

"Care of Colonel Austin."

"Oh!" said G. W., understandingly, "dat means I'se got ter take care ob
it fur my Colonel! I reckon dey needn't took all de trouble to write dat
foolishness out! Co'se I'll take care of it."

G. W. ran straight to Colonel Austin's tent. The officer was sitting
inside, and, as it happened, alone.

"Hello, G. W., what have you there?"

The boy held the big box out gravely. Colonel Austin read the address.
"It's for you, my boy," he said. "Open it and let us see what is inside.
Here, let us drop the tent-flap and keep the surprise to ourselves."

When the Colonel said the package was for him all doubt fled from G.
W.'s heart. Others might step from truth's narrow way--but his Colonel?
Oh, never! The exciting thought that the box was really for himself made
the sturdy little form quiver. His hands shook, and the big brown eyes
stood open, as round as full moons.

The heavy papers were off at last. Upon the box itself lay a square
white envelope, breathing forth a fragrance of violets, and stating as
plainly as could be, in delicate lettering, that the contents of the
envelope were also for G. W.

"There's something for you in the letter--open that first," said the
Colonel. He was eyeing the scene with a strange look upon his face.
"Shall I read it for you, G. W.?" he added.

"Yes, sah! I guess you'll have to, sah, sump-in' seems de matter wid my
eyes," said G. W. "You jes' read it, Colonel. Read it slow an' _exactly_
what it done say, kase I doan't want any mistake, sah, 'bout dis sort ob
thing."

"All right, old man,--just tell me if I go too fast."

Then the Colonel began:

"To George Washington McKinley Jones,

_private in the Ninth Infantry_:

"Dear Sir: The enclosed