"O, Mr. Sinjin! O, my dear, dear friend! You too!" "Is it my boy?" said the veteran, with a wan smile. "Yes, I too! They have done for me, I fear." "But nobody told me. How--where----" The boy's grief choked his voice. "An impertinent cannon-ball interrupted my conversation with Mr. Egglestone," said the old man, stifling his agony as the men removed him to a cot. "And took a--" he groaned in spite of himself--"a greedy mouthful out of my side--that's all." Frank knew not what to say or what to do, he was so overcome. "There, my boy," said the old man, to comfort him, "no tears for me! It is enough to see you again. They told me you were hurt--" looking at the lad's disabled arm. "I am glad it is no worse." And the wan veteran smiled content. Frank, with his one hand, smoothed the pillow under the old gray head, struggling hard to keep back his sobs as he did so. "Who is my neighbor there?" Mr. Sinjin cheerfully asked. "Atwater," Frank managed to articulate. "Is it? I am sorry! A bad wound?" "The bullet went through a Bible he carried, then into his breast, beyond the reach of surgery, I am afraid," Mr. Egglestone answered for Frank. "He lies in a stupor, just alive." "Poor fellow!" said Mr. Sinjin, feelingly. "If Death must have one of us, let him for once be considerate, and take me. Atwater is young, just married,--he needs to live; but I--I am not of much account to any body, and can just as well be spared as not." "O, no, O, no!" sobbed Frank; "I can't spare you! I can't let you die!" "My boy," said the old man, deeply affected, "I would like to tarry a little longer in the world, if only for your sake. You have done so much for me--so much more than you can ever know! You have brought back to my old heart more of its youth and freshness than it had felt for years. I thank God for it. I thank you, my dear boy." With these words still ringing in his ear, Frank was taken away by the thoughtful Mr. Egglestone and compelled to lie down. "You must not agitate the old man, and you need repose yourself, Frank. I fear the effects of all this excitement, together with that wound, on your slender constitution." "O, my wound is nothing!" Frank declared. "See that he and Atwater have every thing done for them--won't you, Mr. Egglestone?" The minister promised, and Frank endeavored to settle his mind to rest. But he could not sleep. Every five minutes he started up to inquire after his friends. Hour after hour passed, and he still remained wakeful as a spirit doomed never to sleep again. His wounded arm pained him; and he had so many things to think of,--his suffering comrades, old Buckley shot out of the tree, his rebel brother, his folks at home, and all the whirling incidents and horrors of that dread day.