“What is your name, and how did you get here?” I said.

“My name is Ca-line.  Uncle Jack, he brung in a load of truck, and mammy let me come along, an’ I didn’t have nothing to fetch to the poor soldiers but Bunny.  He’s mine,” she repeated, as she tenderly covered again the trembling little creature.  I soon found that she desired to give the squirrel away with her own hands, and did not by any means consider me a sick soldier.  That she should visit the fever-wards was out of the question, so I decided to go with her to a ward where were some wounded men, most of whom were convalescent.  My own eyes, alas! were so accustomed to the sight of the pale, suffering faces, empty sleeves, and dreadful scars, that I did not dream of the effect it would have upon the child.

As we entered she dropped my hand, clinging convulsively to my dress.  Addressing the soldiers, I said, “Boys, little Ca-line has brought you her pet squirrel; her father is a soldier, she says.”  But here the poor child broke down utterly; from her pale lips came a cry which brought tears to the eyes of the brave men who surrounded her:  “Oh, daddy, daddy; I don’t want you to be a soldier!  Oh, lady, will they do my daddy like this?”

Hastily retreating, I led the tortured child to my room, where at last she recovered herself.  I gave her lunch, feeding Bunny with some corn-bread, which he ate, sitting on the table by his little mistress, his bright eyes fixed warily upon me.  A knock at the door startled us.  The child quickly snatched up her pet and hid him in her apron.  The visitor proved to be “Uncle Jack,” a white-headed old negro, who had come for “little Missy.”

Tears came to my eyes as I watched the struggle which at once began in that brave little heart.  Her streaming eyes and heaving breast showed how hard it was to give up Bunny.  Uncle Jack was impatient, however, and at last “Missy” thrust the squirrel into my hands, saying, sobbingly, “Thar, you keep him to show to ’em, but don’t let nothin’ hurt him.”  I arose and placed Bunny in the deep pocket of an army overcoat that hung by the window, where he cuddled down contentedly.  Ca-line passed out with a lagging step, but in a few moments ran back, and, drawing a box under the window, climbed upon it to peep into the pocket at her pet, who ungratefully growled at being disturbed.  She then ran out without a word to me, and I saw her no more.

Bunny soon attached himself to me.  Creeping into my pocket, he would always accompany me in my rounds through the wards.  The sick and wounded took the greatest delight in his visits.  As soon as I entered the door the squirrel would run up on my shoulder; from thence, jumping upon the beds, would proceed to search for the treasures which nearly every patient had saved and hidden for him.  His capers were a source of unceasing amusement to his soldier friends,—­I cannot describe to you how great.  The story of little Ca-line’s self-sacrifice went the rounds among them.  All admired and truly appreciated her heroism and her love for “the poor, sick soldiers.”