“I shall never go home any more,” he said, “and I’ve built such bright castles about it, too, fancying how nice it would seem to lie on mother’s soft, warm bed, and watch the sun shining through the windows, or the grass springing by the door. The snow will melt from the garden before long, and the flowers I used to tend come up again, but I shan’t be there to see them. I shall be lying here so quiet and so still that I shall not even hear the cannon’s roar, or the loud huzzahs when peace is at last declared, and the cruel war is ended. Oh, if all the dead ones could know, it would be something worth fighting for, but when the troops are marching home, and the bells ring out a welcome, there’ll be many a one missing in the ranks, and almost every graveyard, both North and South, will hold a soldier’s grave, but you will not forget us, will you?” and the sunken eyes turned pleadingly on Tom. “When the bonfires are kindled at the North, and the glad rejoicings are made, you will think of the poor boys who fought and died that you might enjoy just such a holiday?” Tom could only answer by pressing the thin hands he held, and Isaac continued: “Tell mother not to fret too much for me. I guess she did love me best, because I was the youngest, but Eli and John will comfort her old age. Tell them, too, how much I love them, and how proud I was of them that day at Bull Run. They used to plague me sometimes, and call me a girl baby, but I’ve forgiven that, for I know they did not mean it. I hope they’ll both be spared. It would kill mother to lose us all. Tell her how I bless her for the lessons of my childhood, the prayers said at her knee before I knew their meaning, the Sunday School she sent me to, and the Bible stories told in the winter twilight. Tell her I was not afraid to die, only I wanted her so much, but everybody’s been good. There are kind folks here in Richmond, and God will bless them for it. Oh, Captain Carleton, I’m a poor ignorant boy, and you a proud, rich man, but you will heed me, won’t you, and when I’m gone, you’ll take my little Testament and read it every day. Read it first for Isaac’s sake, but it won’t be long before you’ll read it for its precious truths, and you will come to Heaven where we can meet again—promise, won’t you?” There was a moment’s silence, during which Tom choked down the tears he could scarcely suppress, so strongly this scene reminded him of another, when he sat by Mary’s side, and heard her dying voice urging him to meet her. Four years the Southern sun had shone upon her grave, and he had made no preparation yet, but now he would put it off no longer, and bending over Isaac, he replied: “I promise; and if you see my darling in the better land, tell her, God helping me, I’ll find my way to where she has gone.” The white lips feebly murmured their thanks, and then suddenly asked: