The two boys darted off, the others following them at a little distance. They reached the open field. The shooting was still going on in the woods on the other side, but they no longer thought of it. They ran down the hill and dashed across the little flat to the branch at the nearest point, washed the blood from the canteen, and filled it with the cool water. "I wish we had something to wash his face with," sighed Willy, "but I haven't got a handkerchief." "Neither have I." Willy looked thoughtful. A second more and he had stripped off his light sailor's jacket and dipped it in the water. The next minute the two boys were running up the hill again. When they reached the spot where the wounded man lay, he had slipped down and was flat on the ground. His feeble voice still called for water, but was much weaker than before. Frank stooped and held the canteen to the man's lips, and he drank. Then Willy and Frank, together, bathed his face with the still dripping cotton jacket. This revived him somewhat; but he did not recognize them and talked incoherently. They propped up his head. "Frank, it's getting mighty late, and we've got to go home," said Willy. The boys' voice or words reached the ears of the wounded man. "Take me home," he murmured; "I want some water from the well by the dairy." "Give him some more water." Willy lifted the canteen. "Here it is." The soldier swallowed with difficulty. He could not raise his hand now. There was a pause. The boys stood around, looking down on him. "I've come back home," he said. His eyes were closed. "He's dreaming," whispered Willy. "Did you ever see anybody die?" asked Frank, in a low tone. Willy's face paled. "No, Frank; let's go home and tell somebody." Frank stooped and touched the soldier's face. He was talking all the time now, though they could not understand everything he said. The boy's touch seemed to rouse him. "It's bedtime," he said, presently. "Kneel down and say your prayers for Father." "Willy, let's say our prayers for him," whispered Frank. "I can say, 'Now I lay me.'" But before he could begin, "'Now I lay me down to sleep,'" said the soldier tenderly. The boys followed him, thinking he had heard them. They did not know that he was saying--for one whom but that morning he had called "his curly-head at home"--the prayer that is common to Virginia and to Delaware, to North and to South, and which no wars can silence and no victories cause to be forgotten. The soldier's voice now was growing almost inaudible. He spoke between long-drawn breaths. "'If I should die before I wake.'" "'If I should die before I wake,'" they repeated, and continued the prayer. "'And this I ask for Jesus' sake,'" said the boys, ending. There was a long pause. Frank stroked the pale face softly with his hands. "'And this I ask for Jesus' sake,'" whispered the lips. Then, very softly, "Kiss me good-night." "Kiss him, Frank."