“This is mighty nice for a Rebel,” said one of the men, looking around. “My Jake didn’t get this good care when he was shot at Stone River.” “Too blame nice for a Morgan thief,” mumbled the other. “Shut up,” said the Doctor; “remember what Miss Joyce has done for our boys. Worked her fingers off for them. This man, or rather boy, for he can’t be over twenty, was brought to her door. Would you have him left to die?” The men hung their heads sheepishly, and went out. They were not hard-hearted men, but they were bitter against Morgan, and any one who rode with him. “Now I must go,” said the old Doctor kindly, taking Joyce’s hand. “You have done to this young man as I would have one do to my son in a like extremity.” The old Doctor’s voice broke, for he had lost a son in the army. Recovering himself, he continued, “I must go now, for I may be needed by some of our own gallant boys. I will drop in this evening, if possible, and see how your patient is getting along. God bless you, Joyce, you have a kind heart.” Joyce looked after the old Doctor with swimming eyes. “One of God’s noblemen,” she murmured. She took the belt which had been taken from Calhoun, and which had been handed her by the Doctor, and put it carefully away. She then began her vigil beside the bedside of the wounded man. The Doctor had given her minute directions, and she followed them faithfully. It was some hours before Calhoun began to show signs of consciousness, and when he did come to, he was delirious, and in a raging fever. The Doctor returned as he had promised. He shook his head as he felt Calhoun’s pulse, and listened to his incoherent mutterings. “This is bad,” he said. “It is fortunate he lost so much blood, or this fever would consume him. But we must hope for the best. Only the best of nursing will bring him through.” “That he shall have,” said Joyce. “I have sent for Margaret Goodsen. You know she is an army nurse, and knows all about wounded men.” “Yes, Margaret is good, none better,” replied the Doctor. All through that night Joyce sat by the bedside of Calhoun cooling his fevered brow, giving him refreshing drinks. He talked almost continually to himself. Now he would be leading his men in battle, cheering them on. Then he was a boy, engaged in boyish sports. The name of Fred was uttered again and again. “I wonder who Fred can be?” thought Joyce; “a brother, probably.” Joyce Crawford was the only daughter of the Hon. Lorenzo Crawford, one of the most prominent citizens of Columbiana County. Mr. Crawford had served two terms in Congress, and was at the time of the war a member of the state senate. He had one child besides Joyce, his son Mark, who we have seen was a major in the Federal army.