Alspaugh recognized Rachel at once, much to her embarrassment, for her pride winced at playing the role of nurse before an acquaintance, especially when that acquaintance was her father's hired-man, whom she knew too well to esteem highly. “O, Miss Rachel,” he groaned, as she came to his cot in response to his earnest call, “I'm so glad to see you, for I'm the sickest man that ever came into this hospital. Nothin' but the best o' care 'll carry me through, and I know you'll give it to me for the sake of old times,” and Jacob's face expressed to his comrades the idea that there had been a time when his relations with her had been exceedingly tender. Rachel's face flushed at the impudent assumption, but she overcame the temptation to make a snubbing answer, and replied quietly: “No, Jacob, you are not so sick as you think you are.” (“She calls him 'Jacob,'” audibly commented some of those near, as if this was a confirmation of Jakes insinuation.) “The Surgeons say,” she continued, “that your symptoms are not at all bad, and that you'll be up again in a few days.” “O, them Doctors always talk that way. They're the flintiest-hearted set I ever see in all my born days. They're always pretending that they don't believe there is nothin' the matter with a feller. I really believe they'd a little liefer a man'd die than not. They don't seem to take no sort of interest in savin' the soldiers that the country needs so badly.” Rachel felt as if it would sweeten much hard service if she could tell Alspaugh outright her opinion that he was acting very calfishly; but other counsels prevailed, and she said encouragingly: “You are only discouraged, Jacob--that's all. A few days rest here will restore both your health and your spirits.” “No, I'm not discouraged. I'm not the kind to git down in the mouth--you know me well enough for that. I'm sick, sick I tell you--sicker'n any other man in this hospital, an' nothin' but the best o' nursin' 'll save my life for the country. O, how I wish I was at home with my mother; she'd take care o' me.” Rachel could not repress a smile at the rememberance of Jake's termagant mother nad her dirty, comfortless cottage, an how her intemperance in administering such castisement as conveyed most grief to a boy's nature first drove Jake to seek refuge with her father. “No doubt it would be very comfortable,” she answered, “if you could get home to your mother; but there's no need of it, because you'll be well before you could possibly reach there.” “No, I'll never be well,” persisted Jake, “unless I have the best o' care; but I feel much better now, since I find you here, for I'm sure you'll take as much interest in me as a sister would.” She shuddered a little at the prospect of even temporary sisterly relations to the fellow, but replied guardedly: “Of course I'll do what I can for you, Jacob,” and started to move away, but he caught her dress and whimpered: