"I'll get you some,—don't you know me? Let me have your canteen," said Frank, stooping and taking hold of the canteen. It was held by its strap; but the boy whipped out a knife and cut it loose.
The man tried to speak; but the boys could not understand him.
"Where are you goin' get it, Frank?" asked the other boys.
"At the branch down there that runs into the creek."
"The Yankees'll shoot you down there," objected Peter and Willy.
"I ain' gwine that way," said Cole.
The soldier groaned.
"I'll go with you, Frank," said Willy, who could not stand the sight of the man's suffering.
"We'll be back directly."
The two boys darted off, the others following them at a little distance. They reached the open field. The shooting was still going on in the woods on the other side, but they no longer thought of it. They ran down the hill and dashed across the little flat to the branch at the nearest point, washed the blood from the canteen, and filled it with the cool water.