OONE afternoon when the children had gone over to the hotel to see grandmamma, a basket of fine fruit came, from Riverside. They had not been to the colonel's room for two or three days, for he had been suffering very much, and was not able to see any one. When the fruit came grandmamma put some on a plate, and sent Bessie with it to the colonel's door, but told her that she must not go in.

Bessie went to the door, and, putting her plate down on the hall floor, knocked very gently. Mrs. Rush came and opened the door, and, taking up her plate again, Bessie handed it to her, gave her grandmamma's message, and was going away, when she heard the colonel's voice. "Is that my pet?" he said.

"Yes, sir; and I love you very much, and I am so sorry for you; but grandmamma said I must not come in."

"But I want to see you," said the colonel.

"You can come in, darling," said Mrs. Rush; "he is better this afternoon, and would like to see you."

"But I better mind grandma first; bettern't I?" said Bessie. "I'll yun and ask her, and if she'll let me, I can come back."

Mrs. Rush smiled, and said, "Very well;" and the obedient little girl ran to ask her grandmamma's permission.

Grandmamma said, "Certainly, if the colonel wanted her."

"Didn't he invite me?" said Maggie, with rather a long face.

"No," said Bessie. "Would you yather I would not go? I'll stay with you, if you want me."

"I guess you had better go, if he wants you," said Maggie; "but don't stay very long, Bessie; it's very sorrowful without you."

"Poor Maggie," said Walter, who was standing by at the time; "it is very cruel in the colonel not to ask you. Never mind, you shall come and take care of me when I lose my foot."

"Oh, no, it's me you ought to call cruel," said Maggie, in a very doleful voice; "you know I am such a fidget, Walter, and I can't help it. The other day the colonel was so sick, and I meant to be so quiet, and yet I did two shocking things."

"What did you do?" asked Walter.

"I knocked over a chair, and I slammed the door; and so mamma said I must not go again till he was better."

"But what do you do without Bessie, when she goes?" said Walter; "I thought you two could not live apart."

"We can't," said Maggie; "but then, you see, the colonel is a sick, lame soldier, with a foot cut off and a hole in his side; so, if he wants Bessie, I ought to make a sacrifice of myself and let her go."

The boys laughed; but Tom said, "That is right, little woman, do all you can for the soldiers; they have sacrificed enough for us." And Bessie kissed her sister and ran back to the colonel's room.

"Why, is he better?" she asked, as Mrs. Rush lifted her up to kiss him. "I think he looks very worse. Oh, how big his eyes are!"

The colonel laughed. "I am like the wolf in Red Riding-Hood; am I not, Bessie?" he said.

"No," she answered, "not a bit; you are just like my own dear soldier, only I wish you did not look so white."

"I think he will look better to-morrow, Bessie," said Mrs. Rush. "He has suffered terribly the last two days; but he is easier now, though he is very tired and weak, so we must not talk much to him."

"I wont talk a word, only if he speaks to me," said Bessie; and she brought a footstool and sat down by the side of the sofa. The colonel held out his hand to her, and she put her own little one in it and sat perfectly quiet. He lay looking at her, with a smile, for a few minutes, but presently his eyes closed, and Bessie thought he was asleep. He looked more ill when his eyes were shut than when they were open; his face was so very, very pale, and his black hair and beard made it look whiter still. Mrs. Rush sat by the sofa fanning her husband, while the little girl watched him with earnest, loving eyes.

At last she whispered, "If he dies, he'll go to heaven, 'cause he's so very brave and good; wont he?"

Mrs. Rush did not speak, but Bessie did not need any answer. She was quite sure in her own mind; for she never imagined that this brave soldier did not love his Saviour. "He could not be so brave and good if he did not love Jesus very much," she said, looking up at Mrs. Rush. She could not see the lady's face very plainly, for she was bending it down almost close to the pillows. Bessie went on very softly and gravely: "I suppose that's the yeason he's so patient too. Papa says he never saw any one so patient; and I guess he's like lame Jemmy. Jemmy said he couldn't help being patient when he thought how much his Saviour suffered for him, and I guess the colonel is just like him; and he was so brave in the battles, 'cause he knew Jesus loved him and would take him to heaven if he was killed. He would have been afraid, if he didn't know that. And I suppose when he was hurt in that battle and lay on the ground all night, and his own soldiers didn't know where he was, but thought the Sepoys had him, he thought about Jesus and his Father in heaven all the time, and yemembered how Jesus died for him, and kept saying his prayers to them; and so they took care of him, and let his own soldiers come and find him. Oh, I know he must love Jesus very much. And don't you think Jesus took such care of him so he could love him more yet?" Mrs. Rush's face was quite down on her husband's pillows now, and Bessie looked back at him. He had turned his head, and she could not see his face either, but she felt the hand, in which her own was lying, moving a little uneasily.

"I'm 'fraid I esturb him," she said; "I mustn't whisper any more."

She kissed his hand very gently, and laid her head on the sofa beside it. The room was rather dark, and very still, and in a few moments she was fast asleep. After a while the colonel turned his head again, opened his eyes and looked at her. Then Mrs. Rush lifted up her face.

"Were you asleep, Horace?" she asked.

"No," he said, rather crossly, and moving his head impatiently; "I wish you would take her away."

Mrs. Rush was glad that Bessie did not hear him; she knew that this would have grieved her. She lifted the little darling in her arms, and carried her across the floor to her grandmamma's room. Mrs. Stanton herself opened the door; there was no one else in the room.

"This precious child is asleep," said Mrs. Rush, in a low voice. "Shall I leave her with you?"

Mrs. Stanton asked her to lay Bessie on the bed. She did so, and then bent over her for a moment, and when she raised her head, Mrs. Stanton saw how very pale and sad her sweet face was.

"What is it, my child?" asked the kind old lady, taking her hand. Mrs. Rush burst into tears.

"Is your husband worse? Do you think him in danger?"

"Not for this life, but for that which is to come," sobbed Mrs. Rush, laying her head on Mrs. Stanton's shoulder.

"My poor child! and is it so?" said grandmamma.

"Yes, yes, and he will not hear a word on the subject; he has forbidden me to mention it to him. And if he would let me, I do not know how to teach him. I am only a beginner myself. These things are all so new to me; for it was not until I feared that I was to lose him that I felt my own need of more than human strength to uphold me. Bessie, dear little unconscious preacher, has just said more in his hearing than he has allowed me to say for months. God, in his mercy, grant that her innocent words may touch his heart. Dear Mrs. Stanton, pray for him and for me."

Mrs. Stanton tried to comfort her, and then the old lady and the young one knelt down together, while little Bessie slept on, knowing nothing of the hopes and fears and sorrows of those who prayed beside her.