It was nearly a quarter of a mile from the courthouse. The road
thither, lying through a piece of piney woods, was almost always
blocked by drifted snow or what the Georgians called "slush" (a
mixture of mud and snow). I must confess that the freezing mornings
chilled my patriotism a little, but just because it _was_ so cold the
sick needed closer attention. One comfort never failed me: it was the
watchful devotion of a soldier whom I had nursed in Gainesville,
Alabama, and who, by his own request, was now permanently attached to
my special corps of "helpers." No matter how cold the morning or how
stormy, I never opened my door but there was "Old Peter" waiting to
attend me. When the blinding storms of winter made the roads almost
impassable by night, Peter would await my departure from the hospital
with his lantern, and generally on very stormy nights with an old
horse which he borrowed for the occasion, savagely cutting short my
remonstrances with a cross "Faith, is it now or in the mornin' ye'll
be lavin'?" He would limp beside me quite to the door of my room, and
with a rough "Be aisy, now," in reply to my thanks, would scramble
upon the horse and ride back.

"I know not is he far or near, or that he lives, or is he dead," _only
this_, that my dreams of the past are often haunted by the presence of
this brave soldier and humble, loyal friend. I seem to see again the
lined and rugged face ("harsh," others thought, wearing always for me
a smile which reminded me of the sunlight brightening an old gray
ruin,) and the toil-hardened hands which yet served _me_ so tenderly.
I seem to hear once more the rich Irish brogue which gave character
and emphasis to all he said, a _naughty_ character and a most
_unpleasant_ emphasis sometimes, I must admit, fully appreciated by
any who chanced to displease him, but to me always as sweet and
pleasant as the zephyrs blowing from "the groves of Blarney." Peter
was an Alabama soldier. On the first day of my installation as matron
of Buckner Hospital, located then at Gainesville, Alabama, after the
battle of Shiloh, I found him lying in one of the wards badly wounded,
and suffering, as were many others, from scurvy. He had been morose
and fierce to all who approached him. At first I fared no better.
"Sure, what wad a lady be wantin' in a place like this?" said he,
crossly. "Why, comrade," I replied, "I thought you would like to have
a lady to nurse you ?" "Divil a wan," growled he, and,