Tom was entering the gate of his modest home in as fine style as possible, seated proudly on a stack of bones that had once been a horse, an old piece of wool on his head that once had been a hat, and a wooden peg fitted into a stump where once was a leg. His face was pale and stained with the red dust of the hill roads, and his beard, now iron grey, and his ragged buttonless uniform were covered with dirt. He was truly a sight to scare crows, if not of interest to buzzards. But to the woman whose swift feet were hurrying to his side, and whose lips were muttering half articulate cries of love, he was the knightliest figure that ever rode in the lists before the assembled beauty of the world. “Oh! Tom, Tom, Tom, my ole man! You’ve come at last!” she sobbed as she threw her arms around his neck, drew him from the horse and fairly smothered him with kisses. “Look out, ole woman, you’ll break my new leg!” cried Tom when he could get breath. “I don’t care,--I’ll get you another one,” she laughed through her tears. “Look out there again you’re smashing my game shoulder. Got er Minie ball in that one.” “Well your mouth’s all right I see,” cried the delighted woman, as she kissed and kissed him. “Say, Annie, don’t be so greedy, give me a chance at my young one.” Tom’s eyes were devouring the excited girl who had drawn nearer. “Come and kiss your Pappy and tell him how glad you are to see him!” said Tom, gathering her in his arms and attempting to carry her to the house. He stumbled and fell. In a moment the strong arms of his wife were about him and she was helping him into the house. She laid him tenderly on the bed, petted him and cried over him. “My poor old man, he’s all shot and cut to pieces. You’re so weak, Tom--I can’t believe it. You were so strong. But we’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry. You just sleep a week and then rest all summer and watch us work the garden for you!” He lay still for a few moments with a smile playing around his lips. “Lord, ole woman, you don’t know how nice it is to be petted like that, to hear a woman’s voice, feel her breath on your face and the touch of her hand, warm and soft after four years sleeping on dirt and living with men and mules, and fightin’ and runnin’ and diggin’ trenches like rats and moles, killin’ men, buryin’ the dead like carrion, holdin’ men while doctors sawed their legs off, till your turn came to be held and sawed! You can’t believe it, but this is the first feather bed I’ve touched in four years.” “Well, well!--Bless God it’s over now,” she cried. “S’long as I’ve got two strong arms to slave for you--as long as there’s a piece of you left big enough to hold on to--I’ll work for you,” and again she bent low over his pale face, and crooned over him as she had so often done over his baby in those four lonely years of war and poverty. Suddenly Tom pushed her aside and sprang up in bed.