be dying.

"O, no, it's all right,--it'll make me a better man," said he, while
catching his breath, and wiping the blood from his mouth.

"You had better sit down yourself; you are badly hurt," said one of
the men.

"O no, I am not hurt," was my reply.

But as I was getting a little child's shirt ready for the men to wash
the crippled man's head, I found the front breadth of my dress torn
across, and I had to throw back my bonnet to see; but I knew my limbs
were all sound. Although it seemed as if we had turned many
somersaults in a second, yet I never felt more vigorous. I knew the
surgeon of that camp was within a few rods of us, and requested some
one to go for him to care for my comrade. I saw a man carefully
washing out the large gashes on his head, and I left for the surgeon,
holding my torn dress-skirt in my hand. Just as I reached his office
he was jumping on his horse, starting for me. He exclaimed in
surprise, "Why, Mrs. Haviland! I've just this moment got the word that
you were nearly killed, and I was going to see you."

"I am all right," I said; "but I wish you would go and see to that
crippled man, for I am afraid he is nearly killed."

"Very well, but I shall look after you first."

By this time he was handling my arms, and pressing here and there on
my body, I thought pretty harshly; for he either found or made some