and those he received, told
the little story very plainly; for he read them to me, and found much
comfort in talking over his affairs, as most men do when illness
makes them dependent on a woman. Jim was evidently sick and selfish.
Lucindy, to judge from the photograph cherished so tenderly under
Joe's pillow, was a pretty, weak sort of a girl, with little character
or courage to help poor Joe with his burdens. The old mother was very
like her son, and stood by him "like a hero," as he said, but was
evidently failing, and begged him to come home as soon as he was able,
that she might see him comfortably settled before she must leave him.
Her courage sustained his, and the longing to see her hastened his
departure as soon as it was safe to let him go; for Lucindy's letters
were always of a dismal sort, and made him anxious to put his shoulder
to the wheel.

"She always set consider'ble by me, mother did, bein' the oldest; and
I wouldn't miss makin' her last days happy, not if it cost me all the
arms and legs I've got," said Joe, as he awkwardly struggled into the
big boots an hour after leave to go home was given him.

It was pleasant to see his comrades gather round him with such hearty
adieus that his one hand must have tingled; to hear the good wishes
and the thanks called after him by pale creatures in their beds; and
to find tears in many eyes beside my own when he was gone, and nothing
was left of him but the empty cot, the old gray wrapper, and the name
upon the wall.

I kept that card among my other relics, and hoped to meet Joe again
somewhere in the world. He sent me one or two letters, then I went
home; the war ended soon after, time passed, and the little story of
my Maine lumberman was laid away with many other experiences which
made that part of my life a very memorable one.

III

Some years later, as I looked out of my window one dull November day,
the only cheerful thing I saw was the red cap of a messenger who was
examining the slate that hung on a wall opposite my hotel. A tall man
with gray hair and beard, one arm, and a blue army-coat. I always
salute, figuratively at least, when I see that familiar blue,
especially if one sleeve of the coat is empty; so I watched the
messenger with interest as he trudged away on some new errand, wishing
he had a better day and a thicker pair of boots. He was an unusually
large, well-made man, and reminded me of a fine building going to
ruin before its tim