woods. The prayer was ended.

"He's dead," said Frank, in deep awe.

"Frank, aren't you mighty sorry?" asked Willy in a trembling voice.
Then he suddenly broke out crying.

"I don't want him to die! I don't want him to die!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

When the boys reached home it was pitch-dark. They found their mother
very anxious about them. They gave an account of the "battle," as they
called it, telling all about the charge, in which, by their statement,
the General and Hugh did wonderful deeds. Their mother and Cousin
Belle sat and listened with tightly folded hands and blanched faces.

Then they told how they found the wounded Yankee soldier on the bank,
and about his death. They were startled by seeing their Cousin Belle
suddenly fall on her knees and throw herself across their mother's lap
in a passion of tears. Their mother put her arms around the young
girl, kissed and soothed her.

Early the next morning their mother had an ox-cart (the only vehicle
left on the place), sent down to the spot to bring the body of the
soldier up to Oakland, so that it might be buried in the grave-yard
there. Carpenter William made the coffin, and several men were set to
work to dig the grave in the garden.

It was about the middle of the day when the cart came back. A sheet
covered the body. The little cortege was a very solemn one, the
steers pulling slowly up the hill and a man walking on each side. Then
the body was put into the coffin and reverently carried to the grave.
The boys' mother read the burial service out of the prayer-book, and
afterward Uncle William Slow offered a prayer. Just as they were about
to turn away, the boys' mother began to sing, "Abide with me; fast
falls the eventide." She and Cousin Belle and the boys sang the hymn
together, and then all walked sadly away, leaving the fresh mound in
the garden, where birds peeped curiously from the lilac-bushes at the
soldier's grave in the warm, light of the afternoon sun.

A small packet of letters and a gold watch and chain, found in the
soldier's pocket, were sealed up by the boys' mother and put in her
bureau drawer, for they could not then be sent through the lines.
There was one letter, however, which they buried with him. It
contained two locks of hair, one gray, the other brown and curly.

* * * * *

The next few months brought no new incidents, but the following year
deep gloom fell upon Oakland. It was not only