The carriage stopped at the door of the Alabama hospital. Socola leaped to the ground and extended his hand for Jennie's. He allowed himself the slightest pressure of the slender fingers as he lifted her out. It was his right in just that moment to press her hand. He put the slightest bit more than was needed to firmly grasp it, and the blood flamed hotly in her cheeks. He hastened to carry her baskets and boxes of peaches and grapes inside. For an hour he followed her with faithful dog step in her ministry of love. His orderly Northern mind shuddered at the sight of the confusion incident to the sudden organization of this hospital work. He had heard it was equally bad in the North. Two armed mobs had rushed into battle with scarcely a thought of what might be done with the mangled men who would be borne from the field. Jennie bent low over the cot of a dying boy from her home county. He clung to her hand piteously. The waters were too swift and deep for speech. Before she could slip her hand from his and pass on the man on the next cot died in convulsions. Socola watched his agonized face with a strange sense of exaltation. It was the law of progress--this way of death and suffering. The voice within kept repeating the one big faith of his life: "Not one drop of human blood shed in defense of truth and right is ever spilled in vain!" Through all the scenes of death and suffering beautiful Southern women moved with soft tread and eager hands. A pretty girl of sixteen, with wistful blue eyes, approached a rough, wounded soldier. She carried a towel and tin basin of water. "Can't I do something for you?" she asked the man in gray. He smiled through his black beard into her sweet young face: "No'm, I reckon not--" "Can't I wash your face?" the girl pleaded. The wounded man softly laughed. "Waal, hit's been washed fourteen times to-day, but I'll stand it again, if you say so!" The girl laughed and blushed and passed quickly on. When all the grapes and peaches had been distributed save in one basket Socola looked at these enquiringly. "And these, Miss Jennie--they're the finest of the lot?" The girl smiled tenderly. "They're for revenge--" "Revenge?" "Yes. The next ward is full of Yankees. I'm going to heap coals of fire on their heads--come--" The last luscious peach and bunch of grapes had been distributed and the last soldier in blue had murmured: "God bless you, Miss!" Jennie paused at the door and waved her hand in friendly adieu to the hungry, homesick eyes that still followed her. She brushed a tear from her cheek and whispered: "That's for my Big Brother. I'll tell him about it some day. He's still in the Union--but he's mine!" She drew her lace handkerchief from her belt, dried her tears and looked up with a laugh. "I'm not so loyal after all--am I?" "No. But I've seen something bigger than loyalty," he breathed softly, "something divine--"