im in her apron. The
visitor proved to be "Uncle Jack," a white-headed old negro, who had
come for "little Missy."

Tears came to my eyes as I watched the struggle which at once began in
that brave little heart. Her streaming eyes and heaving breast showed
how hard it was to give up Bunny. Uncle Jack was impatient, however,
and at last "Missy" thrust the squirrel into my hands, saying,
sobbingly, "_Thar_, you keep him to show to 'em, but don't let nothin'
hurt him." I arose and placed Bunny in the deep pocket of an army
overcoat that hung by the window, where he cuddled down contentedly.
Ca-line passed out with a lagging step, but in a few moments ran back,
and, drawing a box under the window, climbed upon it to peep into the
pocket at her pet, who ungratefully growled at being disturbed. She
then ran out without a word to me, and I saw her no more.

Bunny soon attached himself to me. Creeping into my pocket, he would
always accompany me in my rounds through the wards. The sick and
wounded took the greatest delight in his visits. As soon as I entered
the door the squirrel would run up on my shoulder; from thence,
jumping upon the beds, would proceed to search for the treasures which
nearly every patient had saved and hidden for him. His capers were a
source of unceasing amusement to his soldier friends,--I cannot
describe to you how great. The story of little Ca-line's
self-sacrifice went the rounds among them. All admired and truly
appreciated her heroism and her love for "the poor, sick soldiers."

Bunny lived happily for a long time. One day, however, as I was
passing along the street, he began as usual to run from out my pocket
to my shoulder, and back again to nestle in his hiding-place.

Just then a large dog came by. The frightened squirrel made a vain
attempt to reach a tree by the road-side. Failing, he was at once
seized and instantly killed. My regret was shared by all the soldiers,
who long remembered and talked of poor Bunny.

CHAPTER VIII.

BEAUREGARD.

One very cold day in the winter of 1862 there came to the Third
Alabama Hospital, in Richmond, Virginia, a sick soldier, belonging to
the Third Alabama Regiment. He was shivering, and so hoarse that he
could only speak in whispers. Instead of going at once to bed,
however, he sat down upon a bench by the stove, keeping his blanket
drawn closely over his chest. His teeth were chattering, and continued
to do so until I ordered him to go to hi