"For God's sake don't step on me!"

Harry looked down. It was a boy with yellow hair, younger than himself.
He could not have been over sixteen, but he wore a blue uniform and a
bullet had gone through his shoulder. Harry had a powerful sensation of
pity.

"I would not have stepped on you," he said. His duty urged him on,
but his feelings would not let him go, and he added:

"I'll help you."

He lifted the lad, rapidly cut away his coat, and slicing it into strips,
bound up tightly the two wounds in his shoulder where the bullet had
gone in and where it had come out.

"You've lost a lot of blood," he said, "but you've got enough left to
live on until you gather another supply, and you won't lose any more
now."

"Thank you," murmured the boy; "but you're very good for--for a rebel."

Harry laughed.

"Why, you innocent child!" he said. "Have they been filling your head
with tales of our ferocity and cruelty?"

He went down to the stream, dipped up water in his cap, and brought
it back to the boy, who drank eagerly. Then he placed him in a more