MARTHA FINLEY Ultimate Collection – 35+ Novels in One Volume (Including The Complete Elsie Dinsmore Series & Mildred Keith Collection). Finley Martha

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      Slowly, very slowly, medical skill and tender, careful nursing told upon his exhausted frame till at length he seemed to awake to new life, began to notice what was going on about him, was able to take part in a cheerful chat now and then, and became eager for news from home and of the progress of the war.

      Months had passed away. In the meantime Richard had returned to camp, and Harry Duncan, wounded in a late battle, now occupied his deserted bed in the hospital.

      Harry was suffering, but in excellent spirits.

      "Cheer up, Allison," he said; "you and I will never go back to Andersonville; the war can't last much longer, and we may consider the Union saved. Ah! this is a vast improvement upon Andersonville fare," he added gayly, as Lottie and May appeared before them, each bearing a tray with a delicious little lunch upon it. "Miss Lottie, I'm almost tempted to say it pays to be ill or wounded, that one may be tended by fair ladies' hands."

      "Ah, that speech should have come from Mr. Allison, for May is fair and her hands are white, while mine are brown," she answered demurely, as she set her tray within his reach, May doing the same for Harold.

      "None the less beautiful, Miss King," returned Duncan gallantly. "Many a whiter hand is not half so shapely or so useful. Now reward me for that pretty compliment by coaxing your father to get me well as fast as possible, that I may have a share in the taking of Richmond."

      "That would be a waste of breath, as he's doing all he can already; but I'll do my part with coddling, write all your letters for you—business, friendship, love—and do anything else desired; if in my power."

      "You're very good," he said, with a furtive glance at May, who seemed to see or hear nothing but her brother, who was asking about the last news from home; "very good indeed, Miss King; especially as regards the love-letters. I presume it would not be necessary for me even to be at the trouble of dictating them?"

      "Oh, no, certainly not!"

      "Joking aside, I shall be greatly obliged if you will write to Aunt Wealthy to-day for me."

      "With pleasure; especially as I can tell her your wound is not a dangerous one, and you will not lose a limb. But do tell me. What did you poor fellows get to eat at Andersonville?"

      "Well, one week's daily ration consisted of one pint of corn-meal ground up cob and all together, four ounces of mule meat, generally spoiled and emitting anything but an appetizing odor; but then we were not troubled with want of—the best of sauce for our meals."

      "Hunger?"

      "Yes; we'd plenty of that always. In addition to the corn-meal and meat, we had a half pint of peas full of bugs."

      "Oh! you poor creatures! I hope it was a little better the alternate week."

      "Just the same, except, in lieu of the corn-meal, we had three square inches of corn bread."

      "Is it jest; or earnest?" asked Lottie, appealing to Harold.

      "Dead earnest, Miss King; and for medicine we had sumac and white-oak bark."

      "No matter what ailed you?"

      "Oh, yes; that made no difference."

      To Harry's impatience the winter wore slowly away while he was confined within the hospital walls; yet the daily, almost hourly sight of May Allison's sweet face, and the sound of her musical voice, went far to reconcile him to this life of inactivity and "inglorious ease," as he termed it in his moments of restless longing to be again in the field.

      By the last of March this ardent desire was granted, and he hurried away in fine spirits, leaving May pale and tearful, but with a ring on her finger that had not been there before.

      "Ah," said Lottie, pointing to it with a merry twinkle in her eye, and passing her arm about May's waist as she spoke, "I shall be very generous, and not tease as you did when somebody else treated me exactly so."

      "It is good of you," whispered May, laying her wet cheek on her friend's shoulder; "and I'm ever so glad you're to be my sister."

      "And won't Aunt Wealthy rejoice over you as over a mine of gold!"

      Poor Harold, sitting pale and weak upon the side of his cot, longing to be with his friend, sharing his labors and perils, yet feeling that the springs of life were broken within him, was lifting up a silent prayer for strength to endure to the end.

      A familiar step drew near, and Dr. King laid his hand on the young man's shoulder.

      "Cheer up, my dear boy," he said, "we are trying to get you leave to go home for thirty days, and the war will be over before the time expires; so that you will not have to come back."

      "Home!" and Harold's eye brightened for a moment; "yes, I should like to die at home, with mother and father, brothers and sisters about me."

      "But you are not going to die just yet," returned the doctor, with assumed gayety; "and home and mother will do wonders for you."

      "Dr. King," and the blue eyes looked up calmly and steadily into the physician's face, "please tell me exactly what you think of my case. Is there any hope of recovery?"

      "You may improve very much: I think you will when you get home; and, though there is little hope of the entire recovery of your former health and strength, you may live for years."

      "But it is likely I shall not live another year? do not be afraid to say so: I should rather welcome the news. Am I not right?"

      "Yes; I—I think you are nearing home, my dear boy; the land where 'the inhabitant shall not say, I am sick.'"

      There was genuine feeling in the doctor's tone.

      A moment's silence, and Harold said, "Thank you. It is what I have suspected for some time; and it causes me no regret, save for the sake of those who love me and will grieve over my early death."

      "But don't forget that there is still a possibility of recuperation; while there's life there's hope."

      "True! and I will let them hope on as long as they can."

      The doctor passed on to another patient, and Harold was again left to the companionship of his own thoughts. But not for long; they were presently broken in upon by the appearance of May with a very bright face.

      "See!" she cried joyously, holding up a package; "letters from home, and Naples too. Rose writes to mamma, and she has enclosed the letter for our benefit."

      "Then let us enjoy it together. Sit here and read it to me; will you? My eyes are rather weak, you know, and I see the ink is pale."

      "But mamma's note to you?"

      "Can wait its turn. I always like to keep the best till the last."

      Harold hardly acknowledged to himself that he was very eager to hear news from Elsie; even more than to read the loving words from his mother's pen.

      "Very well, then; there seems to be no secret," said May, glancing over the contents; and seating herself by his side she began.

      After speaking of some other matters, СКАЧАТЬ