flame of the glittering bayonets, and the regiment entered the depot.

Then I took time to breathe, and remembered Thomas.

"He ain't fur f'om yere," said the boy. "Right 'roun' d' corner."

And we passed out of the shelter of the doorway to a small, dirty alley,
about twenty-five yards distant, where I found the old man resting
against a lamp-post, the blood streaming down his face from a ghastly
wound in the head, and his eyes closed. I made the boy get some water,
and after bathing his face for a few moments, I succeeded in rousing
him.

"Is that you, Mist' Dunkin?" he asked, faintly.

"Yes. How do you feel, Thomas?"

"Dey's tuhibul times down-street," he gasped. "I like to got kilt."

A pause.

"Dey 'lowed dey wanted dem daih papehs--an'--dey didn't git
'um--an'--den--den dey hit me side de hade--with a brickbat--an' I come
'long tell I git yeah--an' den, disha boy he come 'long--"

His voice was very faint and his hands very cold

"Don't talk any more now," I said, chafing them in mine, while I
wondered perplexedly how I should get him home. Presently he spoke
again: