The colonel commanding,
who had dismounted in the fray, approached me. A stalwart, with huge
moustache, cavalry boots adorned with spurs worthy of a caballero,
slouched hat and plume; he strode along with the nonchalant air of one
who had wooed Dame Fortune too long to be cast down by her frowns.
Suddenly Major Wheat near by sprung from his horse with a cry of
"Percy, old boy!" "Why, Bob!" was echoed back, and a warm embrace
followed. Colonel Percy Windham, an Englishman in the Federal service,
had parted from Wheat in Italy, where the pleasant business of killing
was then going on, and now fraternized with his friend in the manner
described.
Poor Wheat! A month later he slept his last sleep on the bloody
battle-field of Cold Harbor. He lies there in a soldier's grave.
Gallant spirit; let us hope that his readiness to die for his country
has made "the scarlet of his sins like unto snow."
PART II.
FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
CHAPTER I.
NELLY.
In the early autumn, on a lovely afternoon, a little girl sat upon the
stile which led from a spacious farmyard into a field of newly-mown
wheat. In her hand she held a long switch, and her business was to
watch the motions of a large flock of fowls, which, as is usual at
harvest-time, had been kept in their coop all day, and only let out
for an hour or two, just before sunset, to run about in the grassy
yard, seeking bugs and worms, or other dainties, which they alone know
how to find.
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