his saddle.

It was a mere boy--one of the very youngest of soldiers!

"Sire!" he cried, "we've taken the town! Our men are in the
market-place, and you can ride there now! And see!--upon the
walls--our flag!"

The eyes of the General flashed with joy and triumph. Here was
glorious news!

As he turned to the boy to thank him for the more than welcome tidings
that he brought, he noticed that the lad was pale and trembling, and
that as he stood holding by the mane of his horse, his left hand was
pressed upon his chest, and the blood was slowly trickling between his
fingers.

"My boy!" said he, tenderly, as he fixed his eyes upon the stripling,
"you're wounded!"

"No, sire!" cried the boy, his pale face flushing as his General thus
addressed him, and the shouts of victory filled his ears, "I am not
wounded; I am killed!" And down at his General's feet he fell and
died.

There have been brave men upon the battle-field ever since the world
began, but there never was a truer soldier's heart than that which
kept this boy alive until he had borne to his General the glorious
news of the battle won.