orrow.
The respect of his officers for him increased.

Lee's generals went to their respective commands. Harry once more took
orders, and, as he carried messages or brought them back, he never
failed to see all that he could. The great corps of Ewell was drawn up
on the battlefield of the day, Hill's forces extended to Willoughby Run,
and the Southern line was complete along the whole curve. They also had
the welcome news that Stuart at Carlisle had heard of the battle and
would be present with the cavalry on the morrow.

Harry, riding about in the darkness, recovered much of his spirits.
The whole Southern army would be present in the morning, and while
Jackson was dead, his spirit might ride again at their head. Now he
awaited the dawn with confidence, believing that Lee would win another
great victory.

Harry was sent on his last errand far after midnight, and it took him to
one of Ewell's divisions, in the edge of Gettysburg. It was a clear
night, with a bright summer sky, a good moon and the stars in their
myriads twinkling peacefully over the panorama of human passion and
death. But they seemed very far away and cold to the boy, who was
chilled by the night and the impending sense of mighty conflict.
In Virginia they were fighting against the invader and in defense of
their own soil. Now they were the invader, and it was the men in blue
who defended.

As he passed over that battlefield, on which the dead and the badly hurt
yet lay, his heart was dissolved for the time in sadness. The dead were
thick all around him, and there were many hurt seriously who were so
still that he did not know whether they were alive or not. He heard
very few groans. He noticed often on the battlefields that the hurt
usually shut their teeth together and endured in silence. As he
approached one of the little streams, a form twisted itself suddenly
from his path, and a weak voice exclaimed:

"For God's sake don't step on me!"

Harry looked down. It was a boy with yellow hair, younger than himself.
He could not have been over sixteen, but he wore a blue uniform and a
bullet had gone through his shoulder. Harry had a powerful sensation of
pity.

"I would not have stepped on you," he said. His duty urged him on,
but his feelings would not let him go, and he added:

"I'll help you."

He lifted the lad, rapidly cut away his coat, and slicing it into strips,
bound up tightly the two wounds in his shoulder where the bu