can only look her joy as he folds her in his well arm, and kisses her beautiful face. Only Margaret Holbrook seems a little sad, for she had hoped her husband would come with Guy, but his humanity would not permit him to leave the suffering beings who needed his care. Loving messages he sent to her, and her tears were dried when she heard from Guy how greatly he was beloved by the pale occupants of the beds of pain, and how much he was doing to relieve their anguish. Jessie, grown to be a most beautiful girl of nearly sixteen, is still a child in actions, and, wild with delight at seeing her brother again, throws her arms around his neck, telling, in almost the same breath, how proud she is of him, how much she wished to go to him when she heard he was wounded, how she wished she was a boy, so she could enlist, how nicely Flora is married and settled at the cottage in Honedale, and then asks if he knows anything of the Confederate Colonel to whom just before the war broke out her mother was married, and whose home was in Richmond. Guy knows nothing of _him_, except that he is still fighting for the Confederacy, but from exchanged prisoners, who had come in from Richmond, he has heard of a beautiful lady, an officer’s wife, and as rumor said, a Northern woman, who visited them in prison, speaking kind words of sympathy to all, and once binding up a drummer boy’s aching head with a handkerchief, which he still retained as a memento of her, and on whose corner could be faintly traced the name of “Agnes Remington.” Jessie’s eyes are full of tears as she says: “Dear mamma. It’s months since I heard from her direct. Of course it was she who was so good to the drummer boy. She cannot be so very bad,” and Jessie glances triumphantly at Mrs. Noah, who, never having quite overcome her dislike of Agnes, had sorely tried Jessie by declaring that her mother “had found her level at last, and was just where she wanted to be.” Good Mrs. Noah! The ancient man, whose name she bore, would as soon have thought of leaving the Ark, as she of turning traitor to her country, and when she heard of the riotous mob raised against the draft, she talked seriously of going in person to New York “to give ’em a piece of her mind,” and for one whole day refused to speak to Flora’s husband, because he was a “dum dimocrat,” and she presumed wanted the south to beat. With the exception of Maddy, no one was more pleased to see Guy than herself. He was _her boy_, the one she brought up, and with a mother’s fervor she kissed his bronzed cheek, and told him how glad she was to have him back. With his boy on his sound arm, Guy disengaged himself from the noisy group and went with Maddy to where the child he had never seen was just beginning to show signs of resentment at being left so long alone. “Lulu, sissy, papa’s come; this is papa,” the little boy cried, assuming the honor of the introduction.