or I saw by the
light that he was hard hit.

"'No, that one. He's got more chances than I, or this one; he's young
and got a mother; I'll wait,' said the good feller, touchin' my arm,
for he 'd heard me mutterin' to myself about this dear old lady. We
always want mother when we are down, you know."

Saul's eyes turned to the beloved face with a glance of tenderest
affection, and Aunt Plumy answered with a dismal groan at the
recollection of his need that night, and her absence.

"Well, to be short, the groaning chap was taken, and my man left. I
was mad, but there was no time for talk, and the selfish one went off
and left that poor feller to run his one chance. I had my rifle, and
guessed I could hobble up to use it if need be; so we settled back to
wait without much hope of help, everything being in a muddle. And wait
we did till morning, for that ambulance did not come back till next
day, when most of us were past needing it.

"I'll never forget that night. I dream it all over again as plain as
if it was real. Snow, cold, darkness, hunger, thirst, pain, and all
round us cries and cursing growing less and less, till at last only
the wind went moaning over that meadow. It was awful! so lonesome,
helpless, and seemingly God-forsaken. Hour after hour we lay there
side by side under one coat, waiting to be saved or die, for the wind
grew strong and we grew weak."

Saul drew a long breath, and held his hands to the fire as if he felt
again the sharp suffering of that night.

"And the man?" asked Emily, softly, as if reluctant to break the
silence.

"He _was_ a man! In times like that men talk like brothers and show
what they are. Lying there, slowly freezing, Joe Cummings told
me about his wife and babies, his old folks waiting for him, all
depending on him, yet all ready to give him up when he was needed. A
plain man, but honest and true, and loving as a woman; I soon saw that
as he went on talking, half to me and half to himself, for sometimes
he wandered a little toward the end. I've read books, heard sermons,
and seen good folks, but nothing ever came so close or did me so much
good as seeing this man die. He had one chance and gave it cheerfully.
He longed for those he loved, and let 'em go with a good-by they
couldn't hear. He suffered all the pains we most shrink from without a
murmur, and kept my heart warm while his own was growing cold. It's
no use trying to tell that part of it; but I heard prayers that