im
wistful girl brought back over the years the memory of the young mother
who had come from the hills of old Virginia.

He was still for a moment, stooped, and took her hand in his. His voice
was low and tender and full of feeling:

"I know what it cost you to say that, child. You're a brave, glorious
little girl, if you are a rebel. I love you for this glimpse you've
given me of a great spirit. I'm sure I can trust you. If I let you go,
will you promise me faithfully that no word shall pass your lips of what
you've seen inside our lines?"

"I promise!" she cried, smiling through her tears.

He handed her back the pass and slowly said:

"May God bless you--and speed the day when your people and mine shall be
no longer enemies."

He turned again to his desk, and beside it stood a quiet woman dressed
in black.

He bowed to her with easy grace:

"And how can I serve you, Madam?"

She smiled hopefully:

"You have children, Mr. President?"

A look of sorrow overspread the dark face.

"Yes," he said reverently, "I have two boys now. I had three, but God
has just taken one of them."

"I had two," the mother responded. "Both of them went into the army to
fight for their country and left me alone. One has been killed in
battle. I tried to be brave about it. I said over and over again, 'the
Lord gave and the Lord has taken away, blessed is the name of the Lord!'
But I had to give up. I'm all alone in my little place in the mountains
of Pennsylvania and I can't endure it. I know they say I have no right
to ask, but I want my last boy to come home. All night I lie there alone
and cry. Can't you let me have my boy back? He's all I've got on
earth--others have more. I have only this one. I'm just a
woman--lonely, heartsick and afraid. They say I can't have him. But I've
come to ask you. I've heard that you have a loving heart----"

She stopped suddenly.

"You have seen Stanton?" the President asked.

"Yes. He wouldn't listen. He swore I shouldn't have him."

The hazel-grey eyes gazed thoughtfully out the window across the shining
river for a moment.

"I have two," he murmured, "and you have only one. It isn't fair. You
shall have your boy."

He turned to his desk and wrote the order for his discharge. The mother
pressed close, gently touched with the tips of her fingers his thick
black hair and softly cried while he was writing.

She took the precious paper, tried to speak and choked.

"Go away now," the