The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1886-02-18

couldn't t sleep, an there you was at the
window looking out, so / went back to
bed an didn't 'stnrb you, Aunt Hope.n
"Are you at last in love, Hopep"
asked one of her sisters. laughing.
No" said Hope, simply. Then she
sat silent awhile.
When she spoke again, her blue ewes
were looking across the wheat fields to
the distant line of hills.
Mother she said softly, ~ have
decided a question which has troubled
me very much lately. Away off be-
yond those hills lie the battle-ields and
the camps where our wounded men are
lying, dying day after day because there
are so few to nurse them back to life.
You have my sisters here, can be Of
SO little use to you OF them, and It Is
my duty to go and do what / can for
our soldiers. Do not try to dissuade
me, as they started up in surprise and
horror. ''My mind is made up to do
this thing, and l must go. I have
written to one of the nurses, and she
tells me gladly to go. You can not
miss me, and perhaps as there are so
few there, can be of some little serv.
ice."
And so she went; unelasping the
clinging fingers of the children, smiling
back at the group gathered on the rose.
twined piazza of the time-wofn home
stead, over whose threshold her light
feet had SO often passed and SO gaily,
How strange the old home seemed
without her! How plainly the big
rooms told of the absence of small,
gentle woman, whose voice and eyes
not being there, left so little music and
sunshine.
Yet" they said. comforting one
another, ''Hope was so helpless and
weak. she surely can not stand the
strain on her strength, or be of any use
there in the hospital tents on the battle
field, and will soon return, y
But the days and weeks went by and
still Hope Harris did not return, worn
and weary, to the old farmhouse, as
her parents and sisters aud friends ex.
pected. Instead, she fitted in and out,
to and fro, among the soldiers lying
helpless upon the rude beds, like an
angel of mercy, with eyes like the
skies, and hair like stray CLEANS of
sunshine.
She grew brave in the midst of danger.
Her real womanly nature asserted itself
as she ministered to the wounded and
dying. There she found her work
which had slipped past her at home.
Her hands were small, perhaps, and
slender, but strength lay under the
delicate blue-veined flesh, while there
reposed in the dainty tinger-tips
magic power that charmed away many
seadache from broad, manly brows.
A woman's hand is an exquisite poem,
with rare, sweet rhythm in curves and
lines.
The hands of Hope Harris were small
and womanly, but the work they ac-
| complished was a wonderful work
Two sturdy young men were wounded
and brought to the tents one day, the
one with his right leg gone, the other
minus his left arm.
A nurse was needed. The surgeon
| called for Nurse Harris, and without
one word of warning or preparation,
little Hope, white-faced, but steady,
bent over the bedside where lay broad
shouldered John.
s'Hoper' he cried, amazed, starting
up only to fall back helpless among the
pillows, the red blood staining the torn
blue sleeve, while Hope, her lips trem-
bling, but with steady hands, helped
the surgeon in his work of dressing the
terrible wound. And when that was
7 finished and the big fellow lying quiet,
| they went to the other poor soldier,
and up into Hopes set face looked the
bonnie blue eyes and features, stern
from pain-of him who had been his
mothers pride and darling-glad-
hearted mischief-loving Jim! r.
The surgeon said afterward that he
wondered how she stood it, so dainty
and SO small she looked, bending above
the painfully set face of the man lying
helpless before her, and added, as
he brushed something from his eyes,
that the hungry look fon the big
fellows face as she leaned down to
him was enough to make the hardest
heart ache. But the recovery of the
two young fellows, he said, was en-
tirely due to the untiring care of the
gentle nurse. While away off in the
farmhouse Hope was blessed with tears
and prayers for the good that she had
done.
And when the battle was over and all
met around the hearthstone in the big
homestead, bound in rose vines, the
hearts of each and all swelled with un-
utterable love and gratitude to- the
small, golden-haired, blue-eyed little
lady, who ever afterward was tenderly
cherished as "our Hope" to never
again be ''only Hoper'-F. R. Ludluns,
IN the Wonaa,s's Magazine.
iron JewelrY.