Again Emmeline's arm encircled the porch pillar. In some dim, long-past existence Emmeline had dreamed of binding wounds, of smoothing fevered brows, of lifting her voice in song for the comfort of the suffering! Now Emmeline wished that the earth would open and swallow her. While she stood with her arm clasping the pillar, Private Christy and Private Mallon entered the gate. Private Christy's work was now before him; for this task had he remained with the army, while in Georgia his little Bessie grew beyond his recollection. "Leetle Emmyline," he shouted, "you get some warm water in a basin and some old cloths, will you, Emmyline?" Emmeline grew paler and paler; the first shocking sight of wounds seemed to paralyze her. Private Mallon, tottering in upon the arm of his comrade, fixed apologetic, tortured eyes upon her. "It ain't no place for a leetle gal!" he muttered. Then Emmeline took another great step toward womanhood. "I will try," she said, weeping. When she had filled her basin with water, and had gathered the worn fragments of homespun linen that Grandmother Willing had laid away for emergencies, she took them with trembling hands into the parlor. Other wounded, blackened forms had crept in and had lain themselves down on the parlor carpet--the treasured carpet that was the pride of Grandmother Willing's life. "Put wood in the stove, Emmyline," commanded Private Christy cheerfully, "and bring more of these rags. You'll make a fine nurse, Emmyline!" As she turned to obey, Emmeline glanced out of the door. Creeping and crawling, the procession continued to arrive. They came through the gate one by one; they crossed the yard and the porch. A man fell heavily on the steps, and involuntarily Emmeline took her enemy by the arm and helped him up. "I'm looking for Christy," he said in a dazed voice. Private Christy and his work were evidently well known. "I am to keep the boiler filled," repeated Emmeline, as she went back to the kitchen. "I am to bring warm water and towels and cloths. I am not to cry or scream. I am not to cry or scream!" Into the house still came the wounded, into Grandmother Willing's parlor, and into Grandmother Willing's sitting-room, and up the stairs into the bedchambers, and out to the kitchen. "Keep the kitchen clear!" commanded Private Christy. "Keep the room above clear! Nobody in there!" Some one answered roughly that the room above was to be filled. Private Christy's voice did not always drawl; he raised it now so that it could be heard above the slackening crash of musketry:-- "There's a leetle gal in this house, gentlemen. That is her room above the kitchen." "A little girl!" repeated a weary voice somewhere. "I'd like to see a little girl!" Moving about deftly, Private Christy helped this man to lie down and that one to find a more comfortable position. He seemed like a mother getting her brood together for the night; they looked up to him like children who found in him their only hope.