To his joy, Lawrence found Leon improving. He had not only been shot through the arm, the arm he had stretched forth to seize the flag, but had also received a scalp wound. Lawrence would not have known him with his head all swathed up, if he had not been pointed out to him. The meeting between the two friends was a joyful one. "How are the folks and how did they take my being wounded?" was Leon's first question. And thus it is. The first thought of a soldier as he sinks dying or wounded on the battlefield is of home and the loved ones. Lawrence told him and added, "Lola was crazy to come to you, but you know it could not be." "I reckon there would be another one besides me glad to see Lola," said Leon. "Poor Randolph, he lies on the third cot, there. Don't go to him, he seems to be asleep, and he needs rest. The surgeons cut the ball from his thigh yesterday. It had lodged against the bone. They have hopes of his recovery now, if blood poisoning does not set in. He has been delirious most of the time, and what do you think? He is continually raving about Lola. Seems to be living over again the time he was pursued as a spy, and would have been captured if it had not been for her." Somehow it gave Lawrence a little pang to hear this, then he cast the thought out as unworthy. When Randolph awoke, Lawrence went to him, pressed his hand in sympathy and whispered that everything was all right, and not to talk. Randolph smiled and, closing his eyes, went to sleep again. The doctor came and looked at him. "Friend of yours?" he asked of Lawrence. Lawrence nodded. "Mighty plucky fellow. Had a close call, but I think he will pull through. Fever's most gone," exclaimed the doctor as he felt Randolph's pulse and then hurried away. Lawrence and Leon held a consultation that night, and it was determined that if they could get Randolph paroled they would take him back to St. Louis with them, for Leon had already been granted a furlough. The parole was easily secured, but a week passed before they considered it safe to move Randolph. The journey back was safely made and Leon, in spite of his bandaged head and wounded arm, was nearly smothered with kisses. Lawrence found that Mr. Hamilton had not yet returned; in fact, he had met with an accident, and it would be several days before he could travel. What was to be done with Randolph? That was the question. "Bring him with me," said Leon. "I want someone to fight with while I am getting well, and fighting with tongues is not as dangerous as with guns." "Where are you taking me? This is not home," exclaimed Randolph, as the ambulance stopped before the Laselle residence. "No," replied Lawrence. "Your father has met with a slight accident, not severe, but enough to detain him for several days. So we have brought you to Mr. Laselle's. Leon wants you for company. You two can fight your battles over while you are convalescing." "But--"