duly signed by the
governor of Massachusetts, and countersigned and sealed in proper form.
Tom was astounded at the purport of the document. He could hardly believe
his senses; but it read all right, and dated from the day of the battle in
which he had distinguished himself. This was glory enough, and it took Tom
forty-eight hours thoroughly to digest the contents of the envelope.

_Lieutenant Somers_! The words had a queer sound, and he could not realize
that he was a commissioned officer. But he came to a better understanding
of the subject the next day, when a letter from Lilian Ashford was placed
in his hands. It was actually addressed to "Lieutenant Thomas Somers." She
had read of his gallant conduct and of his promotion on the battle field
in the newspapers. She sent him two photographs of herself, and a sweet
little letter, begging him to return the photograph which had been damaged
by a rebel bullet.

Of course Tom complied with this natural request; but, as the surgeon
thought his patient would improve faster at home than in the hospital, he
had procured a furlough of thirty days for him, and the lieutenant decided
to present the photograph in person.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

LIEUTENANT SOMERS AND OTHERS.

Tom Somers had been absent from home nearly a year; and much as his heart
was in the work of putting down the rebellion, he was delighted with the
thought of visiting, even for a brief period, the loved ones who thought
of and prayed for him in the little cottage in Pinchbrook. I am not quite
sure that the well-merited promotion he had just received did not have
some influence upon him, for it would not have been unnatural for a young
man of eighteen, who had won his shoulder-straps by hard fighting on a
bloody field, to feel some pride in the laurels he had earned. Not that
Tom was proud or vain; but he was moved by a lofty and noble ambition. It
is quite likely he wondered what the people of Pinchbrook would say when
he appeared there with the straps upon his shoulders.

Of course he thought what his father would say, what his mother would say,
and he could see the wrinkled face of gran'ther Greene expand into a
genial smile of commendation. It is quite possible that he had even more
interest in his reception at No ---- Rutland Street, when he should
present himself to the author and finisher of those marvellous socks,
which had wielded such an immense influence upon their wearer in camp and
on the f