Billy sprang to his side and seized the dispatch:
"I'll take the message to General Cooper--Mr. President--"
The white face turned to the young soldier and looked at him pitifully:
"Thank you, my son--thank you--it is best--I must have this hour with
our little boy--leave me with my dead!"
Jennie stayed to help the stricken home.
She took little Jeff in her arms to rock him to sleep. He drew her head
down and whispered:
"Miss Jennie, I got to Joe first after he fell. I knelt down beside him
and said all the prayers I know--but God wouldn't wake him!"
The girl drew the child close and kissed the reddened eyes. Over her
head beat the steady tramp of the father's feet, back and forth, back
and forth, a wounded lion in his cage. The windows and doors were still
wide open, the curtains waving wan and ghost-like from their hangings.
Two days later she followed the funeral procession to the
cemetery--thousands of children, each child with a green bough or bunch
of flowers to pile on the red mound.
A beautiful girl pushed her way to Jennie's side and lifted a handful of
snowdrops.
"Please put these on little Joe," she said wistfully. "I knew him so
well."
With a sob the child turned and fled. Jennie never learned her name.
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