il in my face, lifting a menacing, horrid hoof. "_Soh, bossy!_"
cried I. "Pretty, _pretty_ cow that makes pleasant milk to soak my
bread." In another moment I was seated flat upon the ground, while my
pretty, pretty cow capered wildly among the rest, so agitating them
that, thinking discretion the better part of valor, I hastily climbed
over the fence at the point nearest to me and returned to the kitchen.

What should I do now? Perhaps one of the decrepit nurses left in the
ward knew how to milk. But no, they did not, except one poor, limping
rheumatic who could only use one hand. Just then a feeble-looking
patient from the Bragg Hospital came tottering along. He also knew how
to milk, and they both, volunteered to try. Much to my surprise and
delight, the cows now behaved beautifully, perhaps owing to the fact
that, obeying the injunctions of my two recruits, I provided each with
a bundle of fodder to distract their attention during the milking
process. There was more milk than I could possibly use, as nearly all
the convalescents were absent. So I set several pans of it away,
little thinking how soon it would be needed.

By the time all had been fed, I felt very weary; but it was midnight
before I found a minute's time to rest.

I had made frequent rounds through all the buildings of the hospital,
each time finding some one who had need of me. At last, wearied out by
the excitement of the day, the sick grew quiet and inclined to sleep.
Released for a time, I sat down on the steps of my office to think and
to listen: for I did not know anything of the whereabouts of the
enemy. The town might have been surrendered. At any moment the Federal
soldiers might appear. Just then, however, the streets were utterly
deserted. The stillness was oppressive.

If I could only discover a friendly light in one of these deserted
dwellings. Oh, for the sound of a kindly voice, the sight of a
familiar face!

Doubtless there may have been some who had remained to protect their
household gods, but they were women, and remained closely within
doors.

Melancholy thoughts oppressed me. Through gathering tears I gazed at
the pale moon, whose light seemed faded and wan. There came to me
memories of the long-ago, when I had strayed among the orange-groves
of my own dear home under a moonlight far more radiant, happy in loved
companionship, listening with delight to the voices of the night,
which murmured only of love and joy and hope, in