wearing an expression of mingled grief and joy, and held out the
letter to the officer.

"Read it!" she said. "Thank God!" and then, "My boy! My boy!" and
hid her face again.

"Dear mother," the scrawled note read.

"I got your letter. I'm glad you wrote it. It made things plain I
hadn't seen before. My chance has come--quicker than I had expected. I
wish I might have seen you again, but I shan't. A column of our men
are coming up the valley just below here, marching straight into an
ambush. I have tried to get word to them, but I can't, because the
Tagalogs watch me so close. They never have trusted me. The only way
for me is to rush out when the men get near enough, and shout to them,
and that will be the end of it all for me. I don't care, only that I
wish I could see you again. Juan will take this letter to you. When
you get it, and the men come back, if I save them, I think perhaps
they will clear my name. Then you can go home.

"The men are almost here. Mother, dear, good by.--Your Boy."

"I wish I might have seen him," the woman said, a little later. "But
I won't complain. What I most prayed God for has been granted me."

"They'll let the charge against him drop, now, won't they? Don't you
think he has earned it?"

"I think he surely has. No braver deed has been done in all this war."

"Don't try to come, now, Mrs Smith," as the nurse rose to her
feet. "Stay here, and I will send one of the women to you."

When he had done this the officer went back to where the men were
still holding Juan between them.

"Your journey is shorter than you thought," the officer said to the
Tagalog. "Mrs. Smith is in this camp, and I have given the letter
to her."

"May I see her?" exclaimed the man.

"Not now. In the morning you may. Have you seen this man, her son,
since he was shot?"

"No, Senor. He gave me the note and told me to slip into the forest
as soon as the fight began, so as to get away without any one seeing
me. Then I was to stay out of the way until I could get into this
camp."

"Do you know where he stood when he was shot?"

"Yes, Senor."

"Can you take a party of men there tonight?"

"Yes, Senor; most gladly."

Afterward, when it came to be known that Heber Smith would live,
in spite of his wounds and the hours that he had lain there in the
bushes unconscious and uncared for, there was the greatest diversity
of opinion as to what had really saved his life.

The surgeons said it was par