hat harp and that big trumpet hanging close by
it--that's Gabriel's trumpet----"

"No," she laughed. "This is the Patent Office building, that covers two
blocks, now a temporary hospital. There are seventy thousand wounded
soldiers in town, and more coming on every train. The thirty-five
hospitals are overcrowded."

He closed his eyes a moment in silence, and then spoke with a feeble
tremor:

"I'm afraid you don't know who I am--I can't impose on you--I'm a
rebel----"

"Yes, I know. You are Colonel Ben Cameron. It makes no difference to me
now which side you fought on."

"Well, I'm in heaven--been dead a long time. I can prove it, if you'll
play again."

"What shall I play?"

"First, '_O Jonny Booker Help dis Nigger_.'"

She played and sang it beautifully.

"Now, '_Wake Up in the Morning_.'"

Again he listened with wide, staring eyes that saw nothing except visions
within.

"Now, then, '_The Ole Gray Hoss_.'"

As the last notes died away he tried to smile again:

"One more--'_Hard Times an' Wuss er Comin'_.'"

With deft, sure touch and soft negro dialect she sang it through.

"Now, didn't I tell you that you couldn't fool me? No Yankee girl could
play and sing these songs, I'm in heaven, and you're an angel."

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself to flirt with me, with one foot in the
grave?"

"That's the time to get on good terms with the angels--but I'm done
dead----"

Elsie laughed in spite of herself.

"I know it," he went on, "because you have shining golden hair and amber
eyes instead of blue ones. I never saw a girl in my life before with such
eyes and hair."

"But you're young yet."

"Never--was--such--a--girl--on--earth--you're--an----"

She lifted her finger in warning, and his eyelids drooped In exhausted
stupor.

"You musn't talk any more," she whispered, shaking her head.

A commotion at the door caused Elsie to turn from the cot. A sweet
motherly woman of fifty, in an old faded black dress, was pleading with
the guard to be allowed to pass.

"Can't do it, m'um. It's agin the rules."

"But I must go in. I've tramped for four days through a wilderness of
hospitals, and I know he must be here."

"Special orders, m'um--wounded rebels in here that belong in prison."

"Very well, young man," said the pleading voice. "My baby boy's in this
place, wounded and about to die. I'm going in there. You can shoot me if
you like, or you can turn your head the other way."

She stepped qu