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."