rolled over on his face on the near side of the rock and just at its foot. There were no more bullets sent from that rock that day--at least, against the Confederates--and that night Little Darby walked into his company’s bivouac, dusty from head to foot and with a bullet-hole in his clothes not far from his heart; but he said it was only a spent bullet and had just knocked the breath out of him. He was pretty sore from it for a time, but was able to help old Cove to get his boy’s body off and to see him start; for the old man’s wound, though not dangerous, was enough to disable him and get him a furlough, and he determined to take his son’s body home, which the captain’s influence enabled him to do. Between his wound and his grief the old man was nearly helpless, and accepted Darby’s silent assistance with mute gratitude. Darby asked him to tell his mother that he was getting on well, and sent her what money he had--his last two months’ pay--not enough to have bought her a pair of stockings or a pound of sugar. The only other message he sent was given at the station just as Cove set out. He said: “Tell Vashti as I got him as done it.” Old Cove grasped his hand tremulously and faltered his promise to do so, and the next moment the train crawled away and left Darby to plod back to camp in the rain, vague and lonely in the remnant of what had once been a gray uniform. If there was one thing that troubled him it was that he could not return Vashti the needle-case until he replaced the broken needles--and there were so many of them broken. After this Darby was in some sort known, and was put pretty constantly on sharp-shooter service.