Meanwhile, in another part of the camp, Tom Carleton was opening his parcel, while around him stood a group of officers, some his personal friends whom he had known in Boston. “There must be some mistake,” he said, as he daubed his white fingers with the sticky candy. But Rose had packed his things in a separate box, and directed it herself. There could be no mistake, and he continued his investigations, coming next upon the widow’s picture, which Rose had carelessly placed in his parcel. It would be impossible to describe Tom’s look of amazement and perplexity, as his eye fell upon the face which looked out upon him from its glass covering. Precise, puckered, and prim, with a decided best-clothes air. Who could it be? Tom asked this question aloud, while his companions laughingly declared it some lady love he had left behind, suggesting at last that he read the note which lay just beneath it, as that might explain the mystery. So Tom did read it, with a fellow-officer looking over his shoulder, and reading too. But there was too much of the anxious, genuine mother-tone about that letter to cause more than three or four hearty laughs at the expense of Tom and the widow. Tom knew now for whom the picture was intended, and he carried it to Isaac, but it was many a day ere Tom Carleton heard the last of _Mrs. Belinda Simms_! Numerous were the thanks sent by Company R to Rose for her kind thoughtfulness in setting afloat a plan which brought them so much good, and Rose, as she received the messages, wished it was all to be done again, and wondered what she could find to do next. One of Will’s letters told her at last what to do. She could be kind to the soldiers, if there were any in Rockland. She could visit their families, speak to them words of comfort, and supply, if needful, their necessities. This was just what suited her, and she commenced her task with a right good will, startling many an awkward youth wearing a soldier’s dress, by accosting him in the street, inquiring into his history, and frequently ending the interview by offering him her soft white hand, and leaving in his rougher one a piece of money, which affected him less than the brightness of the brilliant eyes he remembered long after the silver was spent. Every soldier’s wife and every soldier’s mother was looked after, and the Mather carriage was oftener seen in the muddy Hollow and by lanes in Rockland, than at the gates of more pretentious dwellings. Harry’s mother and Bill’s, and others of her standing, blessed the little lady, for the sunshine brought so often to their squalid homes, while Annie and Widow Simms prayed from a full heart that no evil should befall the husband or the brother of the heroic Rose. CHAPTER VII. THE BATTLE.