aying
it!"

The women were sobbing together. In the room above, Andy hid his head
under the pillow to shut out the sound. Never, in all his lonely life,
had he suffered so keenly. Love, pride, hope, went down before the hard
words. In that time of great deeds, when the brave were marching on to
victory or death, he, poor useless cripple, was a disgrace to the mother
whom he loved.

Where could he turn for comfort? He limped to the window, to cool his
fevered face. He leaned on the sill and looked up at the stars. They
seemed unfriendly now, and yet he and they had kept many a vigil, and
they had always seemed like comrades in the past. Poor Andy could not
pray; he needed the touch of human sympathy.

All at once he started. There was one, just one who would understand.
But how could he reach her? The women in the room below barred his exit
that way. A heavy vine clambered over the house, and its sturdy branches
swayed under Andy's window. No one would miss him, and to climb down the
vine was an easy task even for a lame boy.

Cautiously he began the descent, and in a few minutes was on the ground.
He had managed to carry his crutch under his arm, and now, panting, but
triumphant, he went quickly on. A new courage was rising within him--a
courage that often comes with despair and indifference to consequences.
No matter what happened, he would seek his only friend.

He took to the stream bed. It was quite dry, and the bushes grew close.
No prowling Britisher would be likely to challenge him there. Ah! if
poor Sam White had been as wise. Andy's face grew paler as he
remembered. For a half-mile he pattered on, then the moon, rising clear
and silvery, showed a little house near by the stream bed and almost
hidden by vines.

Everything about the house was dark and still. Andy paused and wondered
if he had a right to disturb even his one true friend. Noiselessly, he
drew near, and went around to the back of the house. Something startled
him.

"Mother!" It was a young, sweet voice, and it came from the shadow of
the little porch.

"'Tis I, Ruth!" faltered Andy.

"You, Andy! And why! Have you heard about our Sam!" The girl came out
into the moonshine. She was tall and strong, and her face was very
pretty.

"Yes; I've heard, Ruth;" then, coming close, Andy poured out his misery
to the girl who had been his lifelong friend and comrade.

She listened silently, once raising her finger and pointing toward the
house as