lass with me when I went to school, and too
dumb to come in when it rained. He was the worst writer, speller and
reader in the school. Think o' him being a telegraph operator. Why, he
couldn't spell well enough to make tally-marks on a door when you're
measurin' corn. Railroad was mighty hard up for help when it hired him.
Let me read that dispatch. 'Josiah not killed.' That means Si Klegg,
as sure's you're born. It can't mean nothin' else, or it wouldn't be
addressed to you, pap. 'Hospital at Chattanooga.' Chattanooga's near
where the battle was fought. 'Badly wounded.' That means Si's bin shot.
'E. C. Bower's ox.' What in the world can that be?"

"Bowersox?" said her father, catching the sound. "Why, that's the name
o' the Lootenant Si and Shorty was under when they came home. Don't you
remember they told us about him? I remember the name, for a man named
Bowersox used to run a mill down on Bean-Blossom Crick, years ago, and
I wondered if he was his son. He's sent me that dispatch, and signed
his name. The Lord be praised for His never-endin' mercies. Si's alive,
after all. Le' me read that over again."

He took the dispatch with shaking hands, but there was too much mist on
his glasses-, and he had to hand it back to Maria to read over again to
convince himself.

"I'll tell you what let's do: Let's all get in the wagon and ride over
to the station, and get Sam Elkins to read the dispatch over again,"
suggested Sophia. "I'll jest bet he's mummixed it up."

"Don't blame him, Sophy," urged Maria. "I think the rebels has got at
the poles or wires and shook 'em, and mixed the letters up. It's just
like 'em."

Sophy's suggestion was carried out. Abraham Lincoln was directed to get
out the spring wagon, and the Deacon helped hitch up, while the "women
folks" got ready.

While they were at the station getting Sam Elkins to re-examine the dots
and dashes on his strip of paper, the Eastern express arrived, bringing
the morning papers. The Deacon bought one, and the girls nervously
turned to the war news. They gave a scream of exultation when they read
the revised returns of the killed and wounded, and found under head of
"Wounded, in Hospital at Chattanooga":

"Corporal Josiah Klegg, Q, 200th Ind.

"Private Daniel Elliott, Q, 200th Ind."

"Mother and girls, I'm goin' to Chattanoogy on the next train," said the
Deacon.

It was only a few hours until the train from the East would be along,
and grief was measurably f