My head ached so abominably when I first opened my eyes that I was compelled to close them again, merely realizing dimly that I looked up at something white above me, which appeared to sway as though blown gently by the wind. My groping hand, the only one I appeared able to move, told me I was lying upon a camp-cot, with soft sheets about me, and that my head rested upon a pillow. Then I passed once more into unconsciousness, but this time it was sleep. When I once more awakened the throbbing pain had largely left my hot temples, and I saw that the swaying white canopy composed the roof of a large tent, upon which the golden sunlight now lay in checkered masses, telling me the canvas had been erected among trees. A faint moan caused me to move my head slightly on the gratefully soft pillow, and I could perceive a long row of cots, exactly similar to the one I occupied, each apparently filled, stretching away toward an opening that looked forth into the open air. A man was moving slowly down the narrow aisle toward me, stopping here and there to bend over some sufferer with medicine or a cheery word. He wore a short white jacket, and was without a cap, his head of heavy red hair a most conspicuous object. As he approached I endeavored to speak, but for the moment my throat refused response to the effort. Then I managed to ask feebly: “Where am I?” The blue eyes in the freckled, boyish face danced good-hurnoredly, and he laid a big red hand gently upon my forehead. “Field hospital, Sixth Corps,” he said, with a strong Hibernian accent “An' how de ye loike it, Johnny?” “Better than some others I've seen,” I managed to articulate faintly. “Who won?” “Divil a wan of us knows,” he admitted frankly, “but your fellows did the retratin'.” It was an old, old story to all of us by that time, and I closed my eyes wearily, content to ask no more. I have no way of knowing how long I rested there motionless although awake, my eyes closed to keep out the painful glare, my sad thoughts busied with memory of those men whom I had seen reel and fall upon that stricken field we had battled so vainly to save. Once I wondered, with sudden start of fear, if I had lost a limb, if I was to be crippled for life, the one thing I dreaded above all else. Feeling feebly beneath my bed-clothing I tested, as best I could, each limb. All were apparently intact, although my left arm seemed useless and devoid of feeling, broken no doubt, and I heaved a sigh of genuine relief. Then I became partially aroused to my surroundings by a voice speaking from the cot next mine. “You lazy Irish marine!” it cried petulantly, “that beef stew was to have been given me an hour ago.” “Sure, sor,” was the soothing reply, “it wasn't to be given yer honor till two o'clock.” “Well, it's all of three now.” “Wan-thirty, on me sowl, sor.” That first voice sounded oddly familiar, and I turned my face that way, but was unable to perceive the speaker.