Ah! what a glorious boon it was, this privilege of work, and my little barrack-room, just twice the width of my iron cot. I would not have exchanged for any suite in Windsor palace. CHAPTER LV. FIND A NAME. Nothing was more needed in the bad ward, than an antidote for homesickness, and, to furnish this, I used my talking talent to the utmost, but no subject was so interesting as myself. I was the mystery of the hour. Charlie was commissioned to make discoveries, and the second day came, with a long face, and said: "Do you know what they say about you?" "No indeed! and suspect I should never guess." "Well, they say you're an old maid!" I stopped work, rose from my knees, confronted him and exclaimed, with an injured air: "An old maid! Why Charlie! is it possible you let them talk in that manner about me, after the nice pickles I gave you?" The pickles had made him sick, and now there was a general laugh at his expense, but he stuck to his purpose and said: "Well, ain't you on old maid?" "An old maid, Charlie? Did any one ever see such a saucy boy?" "Oh, but tell us, good earnest, ain't you an old maid?" "Well then, good earnest, Charlie, I expect I shall be one, if I live to be old enough." "Live to be old enough! How old do you call yourself?" I set down my basin, counted on my fingers, thought it over and replied: "Well, if I live two months and five days longer, I shall be sixteen." Then there was a shout at Charlie's expense, and I resumed my work, grave as an owl. That furnished amusement until it grew stale, when Charlie came to ask me my name, and I told him it was Mrs. Snooks. "Mrs. Snooks?" repeated a dozen men, who looked sadly disappointed, and Charlie most of all, as I added: "Yes; Mrs. Timothy Snooks, of Snooksville, Minnesota." This was worse and worse. It was evident no one liked the name, but all, save one, were too polite to say so, and he roared out: "I don't believe a word of it!" I sat at some distance with my back to him, dressing a wound; and, without turning, said, "Why? What is the matter with you?" "I don't believe that such a looking woman as you are ever married a fellow by the name of Snooks:" "That is because you are not acquainted with the Snooks' family: brother Peter's wife is a much better looking woman than I am!" "Good lookin'!" he sneered; "call yourself good lookin', do you?" "Well, I think you intimated as much, did he not boys?" They all said he had, and the laugh was turned on him; but he exclaimed doggedly, "I don't care! I'm not goin' to call you Snooks!" "And what do you propose to call me?" "I'll call you Mary." "But Mary is not my name." "I don't care! It's the name of all the nice girls I know!" "Very good! I too shall probably be a nice girl if I live to grow up, but just now it seems as if I should die in infancy--am too good to live." "You're the greatest torment ever any man saw."