“If mother could only know it,” he said, “I should be so glad, and you’ll tell her, won’t you, when you get home again? Tell her it wasn’t very hard to die, even in this dingy hole; that Heaven and Jesus are as near to me here on the floor, as if I were lying on my own bed at home, with her standing by. Tell her I’m glad I fought for the Stars and Stripes, but sorry I ran away without her consent, for I did. I got out on the wood-shed roof, and so came off unseen. She’s prayed for me every day and every night, and God has heard her prayers. He sent you here to lead me in the way, and after I am gone, he’ll let you go back again.” There were a few more whispered words on either side, and then the exhausted but happy youth fell away to sleep, while Isaac wept with thankfulness that his confinement there had not been all in vain. Faithful to his promise, Tom, as far as was possible, alleviated the hardships so long and so meekly borne by Isaac, and with his gold bought many a delicacy for Isaac’s end, the poor, sick Massachusetts boy, who, one night ere the physician had fairly decided that he was in need of medical care, laid his head on Isaac’s lap as he was wont to do, and with another whispered message for the mother far away, and another assurance of perfect peace, went where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest! While he lived there had been something to take Isaac’s mind—something to excite his sympathy, and in ministering to Henry’s wants, he had more than half forgotten his own, but now that he was gone, and the corner where he had sat or lain was empty, Isaac, too, faded rapidly, and not all Tom’s efforts had power to save him from the apathy which came stealing over him so fast. Touched with pity at his forlorn, dejected appearance, his comrades made him a little bed in the corner where the dead boy had been, and there all the day long he lay, rarely noticing any one except Tom Carleton, who came often to his side, and whose own warm blanket formed the pillow for his head. From the first floor to the third there was not one who was not more or less interested in the pale invalid, bearing his pain so patiently, never complaining, never repining, but thanking those about him for any kindness rendered with such childlike, touching sweetness, that even the rough jailer regarded him with favor, and paused sometimes to speak to him a word of encouragement. In this state of feeling it was not a difficult matter for Tom to obtain permission for Isaac to be removed from the dirty corner above to his own comparatively comfortable cot in the officers’ apartments below. But this did not effect a cure. Nothing could do that save a sight of home and mother.