t more than seven men. I have
nineteen wagons here of wounded men,--some hurt pretty badly.

Ever yours, H.

So there must be more waiting. But now we know what we are waiting for;
and the end will come in a finite world. Thank God, at half-past three,
here they are! Tenderly, gently. "Hush, Sam! Hush, Caesar! You talk too
much." Gently, tenderly. Twenty-seven of the poor fellows, with
everything the matter, from a burnt face to a heart stopping its beats
for want of more blood.

"Huldah, come here. This is my old classmate, Barthow; sat next me at
prayers four years. He is a major in their army, you see. His horse
stumbled, and pitched him against a stone wall; and he has not spoken
since. Don't tell me he is dying; but do as well for him, Huldah,"--and
the handsome boy smiled,--"do as well for him as you did for me." So
they carried Barthow, senseless as he was, tenderly into the church; and
he became E, 27, on an iron bedstead. Not half our soup was wanted, nor
our beef-tea, nor our punch. So much the better.

Then came day and night, week in and out, of army system, and womanly
sensibility; that quiet, cheerful, _homish_, hospital life, in the
quaint surroundings of the white-washed church; the pointed arches of
the windows and the faded moreen of the pulpit telling that it is a
church, in a reminder not unpleasant. Two or three weeks of hopes and
fears, failures and success, bring us to Christmas eve.

* * * * *

It is the surgeon-in-chief, who happens to give our particular Christmas
dinner,--I mean the one that interests you and me. Huldah and the other
ladies had accepted his invitation. Horace Bartlett and his staff, and
some of the other officers, were guests; and the doctor had given his
own permit that Major Barthow might walk up to his quarters with the
ladies. Huldah and he were in advance, he leaning, with many apologies,
on her arm. Dr. Sprigg and Anna Thwart were far behind. The two married
ladies, as needing no escort, were in the middle. Major Barthow enjoyed
the emancipation, was delighted with his companion, could not say enough
to make her praise the glimpses of Virginia, even if it were West
Virginia.

"What a party it is, to be sure!" said he. "The doctor might call on us
for our stories, as one of Dickens's chiefs would do at a Christmas
feast. Let's see, we should have

THE SURGEON'S TALE;
THE GENERAL'S TALE;

for we may at lea