Logan, as the shorter uv the two wuz
called," replied the stranger, who gave his name as Sam Butler, "'cept
thet he wuz a fine feller, an' a brave soldier who wuz killed on the
same day, in the same fight, as long John wuz. They both fell at
Monmouth Court-house. But I knew long John well. He wuz my messmate an'
marchin' comrid, an' we slept many a night side by side on the ground,
under the same blanket, when we wuz fortunit 'nough to hev blankets to
kiver us. Why, I wuz by his side when he fell, killed by a bullet
through his heart. I drug him offen the field, an' thet night holped
bury him in the trench whar we laid so many uv our men whut lost ther
lives in thet hot, awful fight."

"Where was he from?"

"He wuz borned in Kenelworth, Pennsylvany; but his folks moved 'round
consider'ble. They wuz sort o' sheftless, I should jedge, an' never
stayed long in any place."

"Was he married?"

"He hed a wife in Philadelphy, though I hed never hearn him speak uv
her. After he wuz dead, I found in one uv his pockets a worn letter,
months old, frum her, dated Philadelphy; and I got her word uv his
death, though frum her letter I gethered thet they hedn't been gittin'
on well together, an' thet she 'peared to think he had misused her, an'
keered nothin' fur her. He wuz a reckless, drinkin', high-tempered,
rough feller; but, Lordee! how brave, when it come to fightin'! He
wuzn't feared o' old Nick hisse'f or eny uv his imps."

"What was his wife's name?"

"Blest ef I kin re-collect, stranger. It's twenty-odd year ago, an' you
see, I----"

"Was it Mary?"

"No, I don't think thet wuz it."

"Was it Sarah?"

"Yes, thet's it. Sarah--Sarah Jane, thet's it. I'm pos'tive it wuz
Sarah Jane. Did you know eny uv her people?"

"Yes, I think so," Abner replied, "but I'm still more interested in the
other John Logan."

"Well, sir, ez I said, I knew nothin' uv him, more'n whut I fust told
you; but, stop, Peter Stump wuz his comrid, an' he----"

"Is this Peter Stump living, and, if so, where?" was the next anxious
inquiry.

"Why, yes, he's alive an' a-kickin'; leastways, he wuz last Monday
three weeks ago, when I seen him at Pockville. He lives two mile south
uv thar, on the road to Richmond."

That night our much-tried hero went once more to the old box in the
garret, and took from it the miniature of his father, and the letter to
Mary, written the night before the battle. With these in his pocket,
Abner the next morning w