“Shirt--no, never mind the shirt. I haven't got yours to return in place of it, for it was so thick with graybacks when you took it off to put on mine, that it was run away with. I've no doubt my shirt that you've got on is in the same fix now, so keep it, Johnnie. I don't want to be too hard on a stranger. You may also keep my drawers and stockings, as I can get a supply from some of my friends in the cavalry. I see you've got a ring that you didn't take from me. Does it belong to one of our boys?” “No, Yank; it's mine. It was my mother's. She's dead--it's all I have left that was hers. But it's yours now, as I'm your prisoner. Take it, Yank. It's hard to give it up.” “I know it is.” “Do you?” “Yes; the ring you took from me was my mother's, Johnnie. She's dead--no, I can't take your mother's ring--keep it.” “I took yours, but you didn't tell me it was your mother's.” “No; for I didn't believe it would make any difference.” “It would have made a difference, Yank--sure's you're born, it would.” There was a grasp of hands as the tears ran down the faces of the corporal and his prisoner. A tender chord had been struck in the heart of each. They had been foes a few minutes before. They were brothers now. Each had fought for a cause, and would go on fighting as before. They must continue to be enemies on the field of battle till the great questions at issue were settled by the sword. But all this was forgotten as they spoke of “mother.” The heart beneath the blue and the heart under the gray beat in unison. Each felt the blessed influence awakened by the utterance of that magic word “mother,” which is so beautifully expressed by Fanny J. Crosby: “The light, the spell-word of the heart, Our guiding star in weal or woe, Our talisman--our earthly chart-- That sweetest name that earth can know. “We breathed it first with lisping tongue When cradled in her arms we lay; Fond memories round that name are hung That will not, cannot pass away. “We breathed it then, we breathe it still, More dear than sister, friend or brother, The gentle power, the magic thrill Awakened at the name of Mother.” “Johnnie?” “Yes, Yank.” “Take this pipe and tobacco. You'll need them.” “Thank you.” “Here's my pocket-book.” “But you'll need the money?” “Not so much as you will. Take it, I say.” “All right, if you insist on it.” “And this fine tooth comb--you'll need that also.” “Yes, I need it now.” “Here's my jack-knife; it'll come handy.” “It will.” “Now take my canteen and haversack--no, don't refuse; I can get more. I'll see them filled before we part.” “Thank you, Yank--God bless you!” “God bless you, Johnnie!” And all who stood by said, “Amen.” So mote it be. Leaving Beaver Dam Station in ruins, Sheridan's cavalry corps pushed on toward the rebel capital early on the morning of Tuesday, May 10.