his shirt in strips and bind
it roughly over the bleeding wound. The blessed letter from up North
fell out upon the ground. G. W. clutched it and put it in his trousers
pocket; the sight of it gave him fresh strength.

Stumbling and swaying, the two went on again. No help came along the
road. But dust-covered and near to death, the comrades at length reached
the field hospital.

It was growing dark when they came into the open space. Lanterns were
hanging around the great rough table, and the restless figures were
still moving about. With rising hope little G. W. made a last rally.
"Come on, Colonel," he panted; "you jes' hang on to me. We'se all right
now. Only you jes' come faster, Colonel! You jes' _run_ now,
Colonel,--dere ain't no call ter act so back'ard here,--you'se on de
road home!"

The fainting man heard the brave soft voice, and he braced up and
struggled yet again.

They were nearing the tent opening, the lanterns flashed, and the
moonlight fell full upon their faces. A soldier among the many who were
lying out under the stars saw them and cried out:

"Look, boys! It's Colonel Austin and G. W."

"Yes, sah!" the boy said simply. "I'se got de Colonel! here's de
Colonel!"

"Three cheers for G. W!" cried a weak voice. "G. W.'s saved the
Colonel!"

The crowd of sufferers took up the quivering cry, and all around the
tent spread the story of G. W.'s bravery.

A surgeon glanced up--then with an exclamation rushed forward.

"Austin!" he shouted. "Austin, let go of him, the boy is fainting! Here,
some one, lift G. W.! I've got the Colonel!"

That was all. For little G. W. the lights went out. The voices melted
into silence. The Colonel was safe! All was right.

X.

IN THE TENT HOSPITAL.

There were long, troubled dreams for little G. W.--dreams that were
unlike those which used to come and cheer him in camp before he had
given up his hopes of being a hero. These were full of terror--a longing
for water, and visions of his dear Colonel wounded and dying.

Sometimes a skulking figure, leaf-covered and terrible, stalked through
those pain-filled visions. Then he would shout for his gun. But always
when he cried aloud, a voice familiar but distant called upon him to be
calm and trust some one, whose name he had forgotten.

At last there came a day when the dreams began to fade. Voices not so
distant reached him. Then he tasted water, for the first time, he
thought, in years!

"Thank you!