The streets of Rockland were full of excited people when the news first reached the town of the terrible battle which had left so many slain upon the field, and desolated so many hearths both North and South. Rose Mather was nearly frantic, for Will she knew was in the battle, together with her two brothers, and it was not probable that all three would escape unharmed. Eagerly she grasped the paper to see who was killed, wounded, or missing, but neither of the three names was there, and she began to hope again, and found time to comfort poor Susan Simms, whose husband was also in the fight, and who had gone almost mad with the fear lest he should be killed. Two days passed, and then there came a telegram from Tom, and Mrs. Carleton, who read it first, gave a low, moaning cry, while Rose, who read it next, uttered a piercing shriek, and fell sobbing into Annie’s arms. “Oh, Will!—oh, Will!—my husband!” was what she said, while Mrs. Carleton uttered Jimmie’s name, and then Annie knew that harm had come to him, and placing Rose upon the sofa, she took the paper from Mrs. Carleton’s hand, and read: “Will was badly wounded,—lay on the field all night;—Jimmie missing,—supposed to be a prisoner. I am well. “T. CARLETON.” “Poor Jimmie!” Annie whispered, sadly, her heart throbbing with pity for the young man who had gone back in time to meet so sad a fate. Never had so dark a day dawned upon Rose Mather as that which followed the arrival of Tom’s telegram, but ere its close there came a message of hope to her. Will had been taken to Washington, where he had providentially fallen into the hands of Mrs. Simms, who sent the joyful news that “no bones were broken, and he was doing well.” “Oh, Annie, God is so much better to me than I deserve; I must love Him now, and I will, if He will only send Jimmie back,” Rose said, while Annie’s heart went up in a prayer of thanksgiving for Mr. Mather’s comparative safety, and then went out after the poor prisoner, whose destination was as yet unknown. That night Rose started for Washington, and three days after there came to Annie a soiled, queer-looking missive, directed to “Miss Widder Anny Graam, At Miss Martherses,” the name written at the top of the letter, and the superscription spreading over so much surface, that, had there been another word, it must, from necessity, have been written on the other side of the letter. It was from Bill Baker, and it read as follows: