"There's Quite So, now," said Strong, "when a Minie-ball comes _ping_!
and knocks one of his guns to flinders, he merely smiles, and doesn't at
all see the degradation of the thing."

Poor Bladburn! As I watched him day by day going about his duties, in
his shy, cheery way, with a smile for every one and not an extra word
for anybody, it was hard to believe he was the same man who, that night
before we broke camp by the Potomac, had poured out to me the story of
his love and sorrow in words that burned in my memory.

While Strong was speaking, Blakely lifted aside the flap of the tent and
looked in on us.

"Boys, Quite So was hurt last night," he said, with a white tremor to
his lip.

"What!"

"Shot on picket."

"Why, he was in the pit next to mine," cried Strong.

"Badly hurt?"

"Badly hurt."

I knew he was; I need not have asked the question. He never meant to go
back to New England!