ipped
down and was flat on the ground. His feeble voice still called for
water, but was much weaker than before. Frank stooped and held the
canteen to the man's lips, and he drank. Then Willy and Frank,
together, bathed his face with the still dripping cotton jacket. This
revived him somewhat; but he did not recognize them and talked
incoherently. They propped up his head.

"Frank, it's getting mighty late, and we've got to go home," said
Willy.

The boys' voice or words reached the ears of the wounded man.

"Take me home," he murmured; "I want some water from the well by the
dairy."

"Give him some more water."

Willy lifted the canteen. "Here it is."

The soldier swallowed with difficulty.

He could not raise his hand now. There was a pause. The boys stood
around, looking down on him. "I've come back home," he said. His eyes
were closed.

"He's dreaming," whispered Willy.

"Did you ever see anybody die?" asked Frank, in a low tone.

Willy's face paled.

"No, Frank; let's go home and tell somebody."

Frank stooped and touched the soldier's face. He was talking all the
time now, though they could not understand everything he said. The
boy's touch seemed to rouse him.

"It's bedtime," he said, presently. "Kneel down and say your prayers
for Father."

"Willy, let's say our prayers for him," whispered Frank.

"I can say, 'Now I lay me.'" But before he could begin,

"'Now I lay me down to sleep,'" said the soldier tenderly. The boys
followed him, thinking he had heard them. They did not know that he
was saying--for one whom but that morning he had called "his
curly-head at home"--the prayer that is common to Virginia and to
Delaware, to North and to South, and which no wars can silence and no
victories cause to be forgotten.

The soldier's voice now was growing almost inaudible. He spoke between
long-drawn breaths.

"'If I should die before I wake.'"

"'If I should die before I wake,'" they repeated, and continued the
prayer.

"'And this I ask for Jesus' sake,'" said the boys, ending. There was a
long pause. Frank stroked the pale face softly with his hands.

"'And this I ask for Jesus' sake,'" whispered the lips. Then, very
softly, "Kiss me good-night."

"Kiss him, Frank."

The boy stooped over and kissed the lips that had kissed him in the
morning. Willy kissed him, also. The lips moved in a faint smile.

"God bless----"

The boys waited,--but that was all. The dusk settled down in the