His coat —tho one he had worn when
parting from her —lay on the bed. Her
eyes darkened as she saw the stains of
blood and the bollet hole. She took it in
her hands, examining it keenly. There
were the pansies, faded and worn, still
pinned inside. The bullet had parsed
through just above them.
“Had the bullet struck him an inch
lower it would have been fatal,” one ot
the men afterward told her.
Perhaps the pansies by some subtile
influence had saved him.; perhaps her own
spirit in that moment of agony had pass
ed into them, making them indeed a real
talisman to protect him. She loved lo
think this. That God has answered her
earnest prayers by investing these, her
chosen fliwers, with the power to save
bis life.
It was onlyagirlkh fancy, but it made
her happy. She took the dead sweet blos
soms and laid them tenderly away. XJn
tii they became du-t these faded fi >wers
would be sacredly cherished.
Jeannette larneto Ned’s bedside one
day with a look of jry upon her lovely
foe It. was like a transfiguration.
“Ned,” she cried, with a return cf her
old life and spirit, “the war is over.
Peace is declared-aid we are going te take
you home to morrow morning.’
Fur an answer he silently pr-ssed the
small, warm hand that crept into hie own.
Whenever was there a sweetheart so ten
der and true, so beautiful and breve.
