ey came,
giving that hellish rebel yell at every jump--the cry of the hunter from
the hilltop at the sight of his game! All Southern men are hunters, and
that cry was transformed in war into something unearthly when it came from
a hundred throats in chorus and the game was human.

"Of course, it was madness. We blew them down that hill like chaff before
a hurricane. When the last man had staggered back or fallen, on came this
boy alone, carrying the colours he had snatched from a falling soldier, as
if he were leading a million men to victory.

"A bullet had blown his hat from his head, and we could see the blood
streaming down the side of his face. He charged straight into the jaws of
one of our guns. And then, with a smile on his lips and a dare to death in
his big brown eyes, he rammed that flag into the cannon's mouth, reeled,
and fell! A cheer broke from our men.

"Your brother sprang forward and caught him in his arms, and as we bent
over the unconscious form, he exclaimed: 'My God, doctor, look at him! He
is so much like me I feel as if I had been shot myself!' They were as much
alike as twins--only his hair was darker. I tell you, Miss Elsie, it's a
sin to kill men like that. One such man is worth more to this nation than
every negro that ever set his flat foot on this continent!"

The girl's eyes had grown dim as she listened to the story.

"I will appeal to the President," she said firmly.

"It's the only chance. And just now he is under tremendous pressure. His
friendly order to the Virginia Legislature to return to Richmond, Stanton
forced him to cancel. A master hand has organized a conspiracy in Congress
to crush the President. They curse his policy of mercy as imbecility, and
swear to make the South a second Poland. Their watchwords are vengeance
and confiscation. Four fifths of his party in Congress are in this plot.
The President has less than a dozen real friends in either House on whom
he can depend. They say that Stanton is to be given a free hand, and that
the gallows will be busy. This cancelled order of the President looks like
it."

"I'll try my hand with Mr. Stanton," she said with slow emphasis.

"Good luck, Little Sister--let me know if I can help," the surgeon
answered cheerily as he passed on his round of work.

Elsie Stoneman took her seat beside the cot of the wounded Confederate and
began softly to sing and play.

A little farther along the same row a soldier was dying, a faint