nder in this bloody campaign was in every way as high as that which
inspired their President.

Jennie spent an hour each day ministering to the sick prisoners who had
returned from the North and were unable to go further than Richmond. It
was her service of love for Jimmie's friends and comrades.

A poor fellow was dying of the want he had endured in prison. He lifted
his dimmed eyes to hers:

"Will you write to my wife for me, Miss?"

"Yes--yes--I will."

"And give her my love--"

He paused for breath and fumbled in his pocket.

"I've a letter from her here--read it before you write. Our little girl
had malaria. She tried willow tea and everything she could think of for
the chills. The doctor said nothin' but quinine could save her. She
couldn't get it, the blockade was too tight, and so our baby died--and
now I'm dyin' and my poor starvin' girl will have nothin' to comfort
her--but--"

He gasped and lifted himself on his elbow.

"If our folks can just quit free men, it's all right. It's all right!"

The women and children of Richmond were suffering now for food. The
Thirteenth Virginia regiment sent Billy Barton into the city with a
contribution for their relief.

Billy delivered it to Jennie with more than a boy's pride. There was
something bigger in the quiet announcement he made.

"Here's one day's rations from the regiment, sis," he said--"all our
flour, pork, bacon and meal. The boys are fasting to-day. It's their
love offering to those we've left at home--"

Jennie kissed him.

"It's beautiful of you and your men, boy. Give my love to them all and
tell them I'm proud to be their countrywoman--"

"And they're proud of their country and their General, too--maybe you
wouldn't believe it--but every regiment in Lee's army has reenlisted for
the war."

She seized Billy's hand.

"Come with me--I want you to see the President and tell him what your
regiment has done. It'll help him."

As they approached the White House a long, piercing scream came through
the open windows.

"What on earth?" Jennie exclaimed.

"An accident of some kind," the boy answered, seizing her arm and
hurrying forward. Every window and door of the big lonely house set
apart on its hill swung wide open, the lights streaming through them,
the wind blowing the curtains through the windows. The lights blazed
even in the third story.

Mrs. Burton Harrison, the wife of the President's Secretary, met them at
the door, her eye