There was one young whipper-snapper of an assistant surgeon, who evidently thought that she devoted too much time to my case, for he was around when he wasn’t wanted and constantly annoyed me by detailing her to some other case she had in hand. I wouldn’t have needed much encouragement to have kicked the puppy, he made himself so disagreeable to me. There were several men of my company who had been seriously wounded when I was, to whom I gave personal, sympathetic attention. I requested Emily to give them special care--and I brought them cigars and other luxuries, with the consent of Doctor Rich; for such little attentions go a great way in comforting boys who are wounded and away from home. I found my friend, Chaplain John, so far recovered from his wound, that he was about to return to the regiment again. We had many comforting talks, and he congratulated me on my promotion, and spoke of the brave fight my men had made at the time I was captured. “I was afraid,” I said, “that they would find fault with me for losing so many men.” “No,” he said, “it was thought that you did the best thing possible in fighting, rather than retreating; and the colonel praised your judgment and firmness.” There’s one thing I liked in Chaplain John, which was that he never made a fellow feel cheap by plastering it on too thick. “I’m afraid that the colonel is rather partial to me,” I said bluntly. Emily, who was listening to our talk, cast down her eyes and blushed--she has most beautiful eyelashes--as the chaplain said, in one of his miserable attempts to be funny, “So are others!” All things must have an end. My wound healed, and my permission, in addition, was about to expire; and but for that young peacock of an assistant surgeon, I should have been glad--almost--to get back to my company and duty again. Before going I had a private conversation with Miss Rich, and told her something about Lieutenant Nickerson that brought the happy tears to her eyes. “How could you have doubted him?” she said half reproachfully. “I never did!” The day that I was to leave the hospital for the front, I requested a private interview with Emily--to bid her good-bye. As she stood there with her hand in mine, perhaps a trifle longer than necessary, that puppy of a young doctor knocked at the door--and would have pushed his way in had I not placed my back against it--and called out that she was needed on a case at once. I was so annoyed at this intrusion that I told Emily--well never mind what--but we had an understanding that was so nice, that I almost forgave the puppy for “butting in”--and something better than words cemented the understanding. CHAPTER XXVII THE MIX-UP OF BATTLE I have not had the opportunity as yet, to tell of the message brought back with me, in Jack’s saddle. The latter was in Jonathan’s minute and familiar handwriting. It began abruptly, without being addressed to me.