"I do; and if you don't get a commission, then there ain't no justice left in the land. I tell you, Tom, you shall be a brigadier if the war lasts only one year more." "O, nonsense, uncle!" "Well, if you ain't, you ought to be." "I'm lucky to get out alive. Whom have we lost, uncle?" "A good many fine fellows." replied Hapgood, shaking his head, sadly. "Poor Ben dropped early in the day." "Yes, I was afraid he'd got most to the end of his chapter afore we went in. Poor fellow! I'm sorry for him, and sorry for his folks." "Fred Pemberton said he should be killed, and Ben said he should not, you remember." "Yes, and that shows how little we know about these things." "Bob Dornton was killed, too." "No, he's badly hurt, but the surgeon thinks he will git over it. The cap'n was slightly wounded." And Hapgood mentioned the names of those in the company who had been killed or wounded, or were missing. "It was an awful day," sighed Tom, when the old man had finished the list. "There will be sad hearts in Pinchbrook when the news gets there." "So there will, Tom; but we gained the day. We did something handsome for 'Old Glory,' and I s'pose it's all right." "I would rather have been killed than lost the battle." "So would I; and betwixt you and me, Tom, you didn't come very fur from losing your number in the mess," added the veteran, as he thrust his little fingers into a bullet hole in the breast of Tom's coat. "That was rather a close shave." "I felt that one, but I hadn't time to think about it then, for it was just as we were repelling that flank movement," replied Tom, as he unbuttoned his coat, and thrust his hand into his breast pocket. "Do you suppose she will give me another?" he added, as he drew forth the envelope which contained the letter and the photograph of the author of his socks. A minie ball had found its way through the envelope, grinding a furrow through the picture, transversely, carrying away the chin and throat of the young lady. The letter was mangled and minced up beyond restoration. Tom had discovered the catastrophe when he waked up in the hospital, for his last thought at night, and his first in the morning, had been the beautiful Lilian Ashford. He was sad when he first beheld the wreck; but when he thought what a glorious assurance this would be of his conduct on the field, he was pleased with the idea; and while in his heart he thanked the rebel marksman for not putting the bullet any nearer to the vital organ beneath the envelope, he was not ungrateful for the splendid testimonial he had given him of his position during the battle. "Of course she'll give you another. Won't she be proud of that picture when she gets it back?" "If I had been a coward, I couldn't have run away with those socks on my feet."