persuading herself that her business was to idle through this life.

Her early experiences were not as peaceful as those which followed her
tenth year. The noise of battle, the cries of defeat, the shouts of
victory, the sight of agonized faces, the vision of death, the
struggles of pain and anguish, the sorrow of bereavement,--she had seen
all with those young eyes. She had heard the whispered command in
hushed moments of mortal danger, and the shout of triumph--in the
tumult of victory,--had watched blazing ships, seen prisoners carried
to their cells, attended the burial of brave men slain in battle, had
marched with soldiers keeping time to funeral strains. Her courage and
her pity had been stirred in years when she could do no more than see
and hear. Once standing, through the heat of a bloody engagement, by
the side of a lad, a corporal's son, who was stationed to receive and
communicate an order, a random shot struck the boy down at her side.
She saw that he was dead,--waited for the order, transmitted it, and
then carried away the lifeless body of her fellow-sentinel, staggering
under the weighty burden, never resting till she had laid him in the
shelter of his father's quarters. After the engagement, this story was
told through the victorious ranks by the witnesses of her valor, and a
medal was awarded the child by acclamation. She always wore it, and was
as proud of it as a veteran of his ribbons and stars.

But now, in times of peace, the fair flower of her womanhood was
forming. Like a white hyacinth she grew,--a lady to look upon, with
whom, for loveliness, not a lady of the fort could be compared. Not one
of them in courage or unselfishness exceeded her.

The family lived in a little house adjoining the barracks. It was a
home that could boast of nothing beyond comfort and cleanliness;--the