mmon one in
that region: an isolated soldier taken off by a bullet from behind a
tree. She stood looking sorrowfully down upon the prostrate form; then a
thought came to her. She stooped to see if she could discover the
identity of the slain man from anything his pockets contained. There was
no money, but various little possessions, a soldier's wealth--a puzzle
carved in wood and neatly fitted together, a pocket-knife, a ball of
twine, a pipe, and a ragged song-book. At last she came upon what she
had hoped to find--a letter. It was from the soldier's mother, full of
love and little items of neighborhood news, and ending, "May God bless
you, my dear and only son!" The postmark was that of a small village in
Michigan, and the mother's name was signed in full.

One page of the letter was blank; with the poor soldier's own pencil
Anne drew upon this half sheet a sketch of his figure, lying there
peacefully beside the little brook. Then she severed a lock of his hair,
and went sadly away. July should come up and bury him; but the mother,
far away in Michigan, should have something more than the silence and
heart-breaking suspense of that terrible word "missing." The lock of
hair, the picture, and the poor little articles taken from his pockets
would be her greatest earthly treasures. For the girl forgets her lover,
and the wife forgets her husband; but the mother never forgets her dear
and only son.

When Anne reached the farm-house it was nearly four o'clock. July's
black anxious face met hers as she glanced through the open door of the
main room; he was sitting near the bed waving a long plume of feathers
backward and forward to keep the flies from the sleeping face below. The
negro came out on tiptoe, his enormous patched old shoes looking like
caricatures, yet making no more sound, as he stole along, than the small
slippers of a woman. "Cap'en he orful disappointed 'cause you worn't
yere at dinner-time," he whispered. "An' Mars' Redd, Mis' Redd's
husband, you know, him jess come home, and they's bote gone 'cross de
valley to see some pusson they know that's sick; but they'll he back
'fore long. And Di she's gone to look fer _you_, 'cause she was moughty
oneasy 'bout yer. An' she's been gone so long that _I'm_ moughty oneasy
'bout Di. P'r'aps you seen her, miss?"

No, Anne had not seen her. July looked toward the mountain-side
anxiously. "Cap'en he's had 'em broth, and taken 'em medicine, and has
jess settled down to