“Well, why don’t you read the letter, Tom?” demanded the old soldier, after the young man had gazed with blushing cheek upon the sweet face of the author of his socks for full five minutes.
“I guess I will,” said Tom; but he did not; for the picture seemed to be glory and beauty enough to satisfy him for the present.
“Read the letter, Tom!” shouted the veteran, after he had waited as long as the nature of the case seemed to require.
The soldier boy carefully placed the photograph in the envelope, and unfolded the letter. It was written in a beautiful hand, which looked as soft and delicate as the fair fingers which had penned the lines. He glanced at it as a whole, admired the penmanship, and the fairy-like symmetry that make up the tout-ensemble of the page, and was about to dissolve into another rhapsody, when Hapgood, who was not half so sentimental as the sergeant, became impatient to know the contents of the missive. Tom read it aloud to the stoical veteran; and though we cannot clothe its sweet words in the fairy chirography which transported our hero, and made the letter a dream of bliss to him, we shall venture to present it to our curious readers, stiffened and hardened into the dull, cold forms of the printer’s art.
No.——, RUTLAND STREET, BOSTON, Nov. 5, 1861.
MY DEAR SOLDIER:—
This is the first pair of socks I ever knit; and I send them to you with my blessing upon the brave defenders of my country. I hope they will keep your feet warm, and thus keep your heart warm towards God and our blessed land.
Grandma says I am a silly girl, and I suppose I am; but if you feel half as much interest in me as I do in the person who will wear the first pair of socks I ever knit, you will wish to know how I look; therefore I send you my photograph.
I very much desire to know whether my work has done any good; whether my socks are ever worn in a battle; and most of all, I desire to know how the noble fellow looks that wears them. Therefore I beg you to answer my letter, and also to send me your photograph, if you can conveniently.
Now, my dear soldier, be brave and true, and, above all, do not run away from the rebels with my socks on your feet. You may retreat when your officers order you to retire; but if you are a coward, and find yourself compelled to run away, please pull them off before you do so, for I should die with mortification if I thought I had knit a pair of socks for a Union soldier to run away in.
Truly yours, for our flag and our country.
LILIAN ASHFORD.
“Well, if that gal ain’t a trump, then there ain’t no snakes in Virginny!” exclaimed Hapgood. “She’s got the true grit, and no mistake.”
“That’s so,” replied the recipient of the gift, thoughtfully, as he bent down, and began to pull off the sock which encased his left foot.
“What are you doing?” demanded Hapgood, surprised at this new movement of his companion.
“I can’t wear these socks yet, uncle,” replied he.
“Why not?”