Colonel, open this packet." Joe's voice is
solemn.
With reverent hand, Peyton spreads the papers before the miner.
There are stains upon them. Separating them, he arranges them one
by one. Suddenly he gives a gasp.
"My God! Colonel Joe, look there!"
Woods springs to his side.
It is a "message from the dead."
Yes, lying for years unread, between the last letters of his wife
and the tidings of her death, is an envelop addressed:
Major Henry Peyton,
Fourteenth Louisiana Inf'y,
C.S.A."
Tears trickle through Peyton's fingers, as he raises his head, and
breaks the seal.
"Read it, Major," says Woods huskily. He is moved to the core of
his heart. It brings old days back.
Peyton reads:
Atlanta--In the field,
July 21, 1864.
My Dear Peyton:--I am oppressed with a strange unrest about my
child! I do not fear to meet death to-morrow. I feel it will take
me away from my sadness. I am ready. Our flag is falling. I do not
wish to live to see it in the dust. But I am a father. As I honor
you, for the brotherhood of our life together, I charge you to
watch over my child. Hardin is old; something might happen to him.
I forgot a second appointment in the will; I name you as co-executor
with him.
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