He heard her, and almost before the words had left her lips her _Jimmie boy_ was kneeling at her feet, with his face buried for an instant in her lap; then, with one burning kiss upon her forehead, the proud James Carleton, who in his early boyhood was scarcely ever known to acknowledge that he was wrong, asked to be forgiven and restored again to the confidence and love he had forfeited, and with her hand upon his bowed head, the mother forgave her boy, bidding him look up, that she might see again the face she had once thought so handsome. It was tear-stained now, and worn, and Mrs. Carleton sighed as she detected upon it unmistakable marks of reckless dissipation. Still it was Jimmie’s face, and it grew each moment more natural as the flush of excitement deepened on the cheeks, and lent an added brightness to the saucy, laughing eyes. The lines upon the forehead and about the mouth would wear away in time, Mrs. Carleton hoped, and parting the soft, black curls clustering around the broad, white brow, she told him why Rose was not there to meet him, and asked if he would go up then to see her. Rose heard them coming, and at the sound of the familiar voice calling her name, the tears flowed in torrents, and with her face buried in her pillows she received her brother’s first embrace. Very gently he lifted up her head, and taking in his the little hot hands, kissed again and again her childish face, and wiping her tears away, asked, half seriously, half playfully, “if they met in peace or war?” “Oh, in peace, in peace!” Rose answered, and winding her arms around his neck, she hugged and cried over him, asking why he had been so naughty, when he knew how badly they would feel, and why he had not interfered to save poor _Tom_ from a prisoner’s fate. He explained to her how that was impossible, but for his treachery he had no excuse; he could only answer that he was sorry, and ask again to be forgiven. “I do not now believe the South _all wrong_,” he said. “Many of them sincerely think they are fighting for their firesides; others hardly know what they are fighting for; while others again are impressed into the army and cannot help themselves. As for me, I would gladly blot out the past, for which I have no apology; but as that cannot be, I would rather talk as little of it as possible. Try, Rose, to forget that you ever had a rebel brother. Will you?” Rose’s kisses were a sufficient answer. She was too happy just then to remember aught save that he had always been the dearest brother imaginable; besides that Annie taught that we must forgive as we would be forgiven. Annie bore no ill will toward the South. She prayed for _them_ as well as for the North, and cried most as hard over the sick, suffering soldiers captured by our army as over our own prisoners, and if she could forgive, Rose surely ought to do so too.