Miss Lou entered upon her duties as hospital nurse at once. Untrammelled even by the knowledge of conventionalities, and with the directness and fearlessness of a brave child, she went from one to another, her diffidence quickly banished by her profound sympathy. The enlisted men on the piazzas received her chief attentions, nor was she long in discovering the Federal wounded, crowding the outbuildings and offices.

With the exception of a rearguard and hospital attendants, the Confederate forces had marched in pursuit of the Union column. The dead were buried during the morning and the ghastlier evidences of strife removed. Along the edge of the grove tents were pitched, some designed for the soldiers, others for the better accommodation and isolation of certain critical cases. The negroes performed most of the labor, Uncle Lusthah counselling patience and quiet acceptance of their lot for the present. The prisoners were sent South. Confederate surgeon Ackley was in charge of the hospital, while upon Whately was conferred the military command. His partial disablement would not prevent him from attending to the light duties of the position, the surgeon being practically the superior officer. Order was quickly restored, guards set at important points, and the strangely assorted little community passed speedily under a simple yet rigorous military government. Curiosity, desire of gain, as well as sympathy, led people to flock to the plantation from far and near. One of Surgeon Ackley's first steps was to impress upon all the need of provisions, for Mr. Baron's larder, ample as it had been, was speedily exhausted. During the day began the transfer of the slightly wounded to the nearest railroad town, where supplies could be obtained with more certainty, and it was evident that the policy of abandoning the remote plantation as soon as possible had been adopted.

Miss Lou knew nothing of this, and simply became absorbed in successive tasks for the time being.

"Miss Baron," said Surgeon Ackley, "a number of the men are so disabled that they cannot feed themselves. Proper food at the right time usually means life."

These words suggested what became one of her principal duties. At first, rough men were surprised and grateful indeed to find fair young girl kneeling beside them with a bowl of hot soup; then they began to look for her and welcome her as one who evoked their best and most chivalrous feelings. It had soon been evident to her that the wounded officers in the house would receive the most careful attention from the regularly appointed attendants and also from Mrs. Whately. With the exception of the old colonel, she gradually began to devote the most of her time to the enlisted men, finding among them much less embarrassment in her labors. With the latter class among the Confederates, there was not on either side a consciousness of social equality or an effort to maintain its amenities. The relation was the simple one of kindness bestowed and received.

The girl made the acquaintance of the Union wounded with feelings in which doubt, curiosity and sympathy were strangely blended. Her regard for Scoville added to her peculiar interest in his compatriots. They were the enemies of whom she had heard so much, having been represented as more alien and foreign than if they had come across the seas and spoke a different tongue. How they would receive her had been an anxious query from the first, but she quickly learned that her touch of kindness made them kin—that they welcomed her in the same spirit as did her own people, while they also were animated by like curiosity and wondering interest in regard to herself. A woman's presence in a field hospital was in itself strange and unexpected. That this woman should be a Southern girl, whose lovely features were gentle in commiseration, instead of rigid from an imperious sense of duty to foes, was a truth scarcely accepted at first. Its fuller comprehension began to evoke a homage which troubled the girl. She was too simple and honest to accept such return for what seemed the natural offices of humanity; yet, while her manner and words checked its expression, they only deepened the feeling.

At first she could scarcely distinguish among the bronzed, begrimed faces, but before the day passed there were those whose needs and personal traits enlisted her special regard. This was true of one middle-aged Union captain, to whom at first she had no call to speak, for apparently he was not very seriously wounded. Even before his face was cleansed from the smoke and dust of battle his large, dark eyes and magnificent black beard caught her attention. Later on, when feeding a helpless man near him, he spoke to her and held out a photograph. She took it and saw the features of a blond young girl scarcely as old as herself.

"My little girl," said the officer simply. "See how she resembles her mother. That's one reason why I so idolize her," and he handed Miss Lou another picture, that of a sweet, motherly face, to which the former likeness bore the resemblance of bud to blossom.

"We must try to get you well soon, so that you may go back to them," said Miss Lou cordially. "You are not seriously hurt, I hope?"

"No, I think not. I wanted you to see them so you can imagine how they will look when I tell them about you. I don't need to be reminded of my little Sadie, but I almost see her when you come among us, and I think her blue eyes would have much the same expression as yours. God bless you, for you are blessing those whom you regard as your enemies. We don't look very hostile though, do we?"

"It seems a terrible mistake that you should be here at all as enemies," she replied. "I have been taught to dread your coming more than if you were Indians. I never can understand why men who carry such pictures as these next their heart can fight against us."

"Well, Miss Baron, you must try to believe that we would not have left the dear originals of such pictures unless we had felt we must, and there let the question rest. Our lives are sweet to us, although we risk them, chiefly because so dear to those at home. Let the thought cheer you in your work that you are keeping tears from eyes as good and kind as your own. That's another reason why I showed you the likenesses."

"It will be but another motive," she said. "A suffering man, whether friend or enemy, is enough."

She smiled as she spoke, then picked her way across the wide barn floor and disappeared. Every eye followed her, pain all forgotten for the moment.

"By G—d!" exclaimed a rough fellow, drawing his sleeve across his eyes, "I'm hard hit, but I'll crawl to and choke the first man who says a word she oughtn't to hear when she's around."

"If you can keep your own tongue civil, Yarry, you'll have your hands full," said a comrade.

"Well, I be blankety blank-blanked if that girl doesn't rout the devil out of a fellow, hoof and horns."

"You're right, my man," said the Union captain, "and your feelings do you credit. Now I have a suggestion to make. Not one of us is capable of using a word before her that she shouldn't hear, if not out of our heads. We can pay her a better tribute than that. Let us decide to speak in her absence as if she were present. That's about all we can do in return for her kindness. She won't know the cost to us in breaking habits, but we will, and that's better. We all feel that we'd like to spill some more of our blood for the girl who fed Phillips yonder as if he were a baby. Well, let us do the only thing we can—speak as if our mothers heard us all the time, for this girl's sake."

"I be blanked if I don't agree, and may the devil fly away with the man who doesn't," cried Yarry.

"Ah, Yarry," said the captain, laughing, "you'll have the hardest row of any of us to hoe. We'll have to let you off for some slips."

Then began among the majority a harder fight than that for life—a fight with inveterate habit, an effort to change vernacular, almost as difficult as the learning of a new language. For some time Miss Lou did not know nor understand. Word had been passed to other and smaller groups of the Union wounded in other buildings. The pledge was soon known as "A Northern Tribute to a Southern Girl." It was entered into with enthusiasm and kept with a pathetic effort which many will not understand. Yarry positively began to fail under the restraint he imposed upon himself. His wound caused him agony, and profanity would have been his natural expression of even slight annoyance. All day long grisly oaths rose to his lips. Now and then an excruciating twinge would cause a half-uttered expletive to burst forth like a projectile. A deep groan would follow, as the man became rigid in his struggle for self-control.

"Yarry," cried Captain Hanfield, who had suggested the pledge, "let yourself go, for God's sake. You have shown more heroism to-day than I in all my life. We will make you an exception and put you on parole to hold in only while Miss Baron is here."

"I be—oh, blank it! This is going to be the death of me, boys. The Rebs gave me hell with this wound. But for God's sake don't let her know. Just let her think I'm civil like the rest of you. Wouldn't she open them blue eyes if she knew a man was dyin', just holdin' in cussin' on her account. Ha, ha, ha! She'd think I was a sort of a Yankee devil, worse than the Injins she expected. Don't let her know. I'll be quiet enough before long. Then like enough she'd look at me and say, 'Poor fellow! he won't make any more trouble.'"

Whately had a busy day and felt that he had a reputation to regain. He therefore bravely endured much physical pain in his arm and gave very close attention to duty. Captain Maynard, on the contrary, had nothing to do, and his wound was only severe enough to make him restless. The young girl whom he had met at breakfast at once became by far the most interesting subject for thought and object of observation. He was a young fellow of the ordinary romantic type, hasty, susceptible, as ready to fight as to eat, and possessed of the idea that the way to win a girl was to appear her smitten, abject slave. The passing hours were ages to him in contrast to his previous activity, and as he watched Miss Lou going about on her errands of mercy he quickly passed from one stage to another of admiration and idealization. Remembering the look that Whately had given him in the morning, he maintained a distant attitude at first, thinking his brother officer had claims which he must respect. As he wandered uneasily around, however, he discovered virtually how matters stood, and learned of the attempt which Whately had made to marry his cousin, nolens volens. This fact piqued his interest deeply and satisfied him that the way was clear for a suit on his part were he so inclined. Fair rivalry would give only additional zest, and he promptly yielded to his inclination to become at least much better acquainted with the girl. At dinner he and Whately vied in their gallantries, but she was too sad and weary to pay much attention to either of them.

Mrs. Whately compelled her to lie down for a time during the heat of the afternoon, but thoughts of the suffering all about her banished power to rest. She went down and found the old colonel lying with closed eyes, feebly trying to keep away the pestering flies. Remembering the bunch of peacock feathers with which Zany, in old monotonous days, had waved when waiting on the table, she obtained it from the dining-room, and sitting down noiselessly by the officer, gave him a respite from his tormentors. In his drowsiness he did not open his eyes, but passed into quiet sleep. The girl maintained her watch, putting her finger to her lips and making signals for silence to all who came near. Other Confederate officers observed her wistfully; Mad Whately, coming in, looked at her frowningly. His desire and purpose toward his cousin had been that of entire self-appropriation and now she was becoming the cynosure of many eyes. Among them he saw those of Captain Maynard, who was already an object of hate. Little recked the enamored captain of this fact. To his ardent fancy the girl was rapidly becoming ideal in goodness and beauty. With the ready egotism of the young he was inclined to believe that fate had brought about the events which had revealed to him the woman he should marry. A bombshell bursting among them all would not have created a greater sensation than the knowledge that the girl's thoughts were following a Yankee, one whom she herself, by daring stratagem, had released from captivity.

A twinge of pain awakened the colonel and he looked up, dazed and uncomprehending. Miss Lou bent over him and said gently, "Go to sleep again. It's all right."

"Oh, I remember now. You are Miss Baron."

"Yes, but don't try to talk; just sleep now that you can."

He smiled and yielded.

A few moments later Maynard came forward and said, "Miss Baron, your arm must be tired. Let me take your place."

Now she rewarded him by a smile. "I will be glad if you can," she replied softly, "not that I am very tired, but there are so many others."

As she moved away, she saw Surgeon Ackley beckoning to her. "Miss Baron," he said, "I am going to put one of my patients especially in your and your aunt's charge. Young as he is, he is a hero and an unusual character. I have had him moved to a tent, for he is in a very critical condition. Indeed, his chances for life are few and he knows it. I am acquainted with his family—one of the best in the South."

He led the way to a small tent beneath the shade of a wide-branched oak. A stretcher had been extemporized into a camp bed and on it lay a youth not older apparently than the girl herself. His face had the blood-drained look which many will remember, yet was still fine in its strong, boyish lines. The down on his upper lip was scarcely more deeply defined than his straight eyebrows. A negro attendant sat near fanning him, and Miss Lou first thought that he was asleep. As she approached with the surgeon he opened his eyes with the dazed expression so common when the brain is enfeebled from loss of blood. At first they seemed almost opaque and dead in their blackness, but, as if a light were approaching from within, they grew bright and laughing. His smile showed his white, even teeth slightly, and her look of deep commiseration passed into one of wonder as she saw his face growing positively radiant with what seemed to her a strange kind of happiness, as he glanced back and forth from her to the surgeon. Feebly he raised his finger to his lips as if to say, "I can't speak."

"That's right, Waldo; don't try to talk yet. This is Miss Baron. She will be one of your nurses and will feed you with the best of soup. We'll bring you round yet."

He shook his head and smiled more genially, then tried to extend his hand to the girl, looking his welcome and acceptance of her ministry. So joyous was his expression that she could not help smiling in return, but it was the questioning, doubtful smile of one who did not understand.

"When she comes," resumed Ackley, "take what she gives you, but don't talk until I give permission. That will do now. You must take everything except quiet in small quantities at first."

His lips formed the words "All right," and smilingly he watched them depart.

"I suppose he is not exactly in his right mind," said Miss Lou as she and the surgeon returned to the house.

"Many would think so, I reckon," replied Ackley laconically. "He believes in a heaven and that he's going there. That's the only queer thing I ever discovered in Waldo. He's worth a lot of trouble, Miss Baron."

"It would be right strange if I did not do my best for him, sir."

"I thought you'd feel so. I want very strong beef soup made for a few such special cases, who can take but little at a time. I would like him to have a few teaspoonfuls every two hours. I am going to trust to you and Mrs. Whately chiefly to look after him in this respect. We can do little more than help nature in his case."

Poor Aun' Suke was getting weary again, but she had a heart which Miss Lou speedily touched in behalf of her patient, and a special saucepan was soon bubbling over the fire.

The soup for the evening meal being ready, she began again her task of feeding the helpless soldiers, visiting, among others, Phillips, who lay in a half-stupor on the great barn-floor. As she stepped in among the Federal wounded, she was again impressed by the prevailing quiet and by the friendly glances turned toward her on every side. The Union surgeon in charge lifted his hat politely, while such of the men as were able took off theirs and remained uncovered. The homage, although quiet, was so marked that she was again embarrassed, and with downcast eyes went direct to Phillips, gently roused him and gave him his supper. While she was doing this the men around her were either silent or spoke in low tones. The thought grew in her mind, "How these Northern soldiers have been misrepresented to me! Even when I am approaching and before they are aware I am near, I hear no rough talk as I do among our men. The world is so different from uncle's idea of it! Whether these men are right or wrong, I will never listen patiently again when they are spoken of as the scum of the earth."

As she rose and saw the respectful attitude toward her, faltered,
"I—I—wish to thank you for your—your kindness to me."

At these words there was a general smile even on the wannest and most pain-pinched face, for they struck the men as very droll.

"We were under the impression that the kindness was chiefly on your side," said Captain Hanfield. "Still we are glad you find us a civil lot of Indians."

"Please remember," she answered earnestly, "that was not my thought, but one impressed upon me by those who did not know. Only within a very short time have I ever seen Northern people or soldiers, and they treat me with nothing but courtesy."

"Perhaps you are to blame for that," said the captain pleasantly.

"I can't help feeling glad that our good opinion is becoming mutual," she replied, smiling. "Won't you please put on your hats and let me come and go as a matter of course? I don't like to be sort of received every time I come. I just want to help those I can help, to get well."

"You have only to express your wishes, Miss Baron," was the hearty reply.

"Thank you. Is there anything more that I can do for you? Is there any one who specially needs—"

As she was glancing round her eyes fell upon Yarry. His face was so drawn and haggard with pain that, from an impulse of pity, she went directly to him and said gently, "I fear, sir, you are suffering very much."

"I be—oh, hang—there, there, miss, I'll stand it a little longer. I could stand hell-fire for your sake. I didn't mean to say that. Guess I better keep still."

His face, now seen attentively, revealed more to her in tuition than his words. She stooped by his side and said piteously, "Oh, you are suffering—I FEEL that you are suffering terribly. I must do something to relieve you."

"Oh, now, miss," he replied, forcing a ghastly sort of smile, "I'm all right, I be—well, I am. Bless your kind heart! Don't worry about me. I'll smoke my pipe and go to sleep pretty soon. You look tired yourself, little one. I will feel better if you won't worry about me, I be—well, I will. I'm just like the other fellows, you know."

"I reckon you are a brave, good-hearted man, to think of others when I KNOW you are suffering so much. I am having very strong soup made for one of our men, and I'll bring you some by and by," and with a lingering, troubled look into his rugged face, she departed.

His eyes followed her until she disappeared.

"Yarry, you are rewarded," Captain Hanfield remarked.

"—my reward. Fellers, she's just wearin' herself out for us. I don't want no reward for anything I can do for her. Well, I'm goin' to shut up now. The only thing I can do for her is to hold my tongue till it can't wag. I told her I'd smoke my pipe and go to sleep. I be—well, I will. Light it for me, Tom. When she comes, like enough I'll be asleep, a sort of DEAD sleep, yer know. Just let her think I'm dozin' after my pipe. Don't let her try to wake me and worry about me."

"All shall be as you wish, Yarry," said Captain Hanfield. "I tell you, men, few women ever received such a tribute as Yarry is paying this Southern girl. For one, I'm proud of him."