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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
THE UNIONISTS HOLD THEIR POSITION
girl, "why do >you not die with the others 1"
He ran toward her, quite insane, pleading for protection. As if in answer to her call, a shrapnel shell described a graceful arc, and fell on the field at her feet.
She stared at it, fascinated.
It was then the Pelican boy, with the look of a grateful hound, cast himself in front of her, just as the shell exploded.
He lay a torn mass at her feet — one whose courage had come at the eleventh hour, and had blown its soul from him with its violence.
The girl knelt and took the shattered boy's head on her knees — in time to catch the flicker of a smile, which stayed even as he left.
She covered him with her shawl. "What have I done like this?" The thought sped, shell-like, thru her. She surged like one in a death agony at the thought of how close death had gripped at her skirts, and started back, running thru the woods.
But the picture of the remnant of men huddled in the clearing would not blot from her memory. It stood out before her as something tangible and unforgetable even as she came to her horse. So she stood for an instant before riding away.
An idea came to her, crushing back
her terror, for it was noble and big if she could summon the courage to carry it thru.
She grasped her horse's bridle and led him thru the woods to a spot on its edge, some distance beyond the scene of attack and repulse.
All was quiet, now, in the clearing, and the Confederates had retreated to the shelter of the woods, where they lay like cudgeled dogs, panting and cowed.
With shaking fingers, Agnes scribbled a note which she stuck beneath her horse's bridle. Then she drew his head down and stroked it fondly, as he nuzzled to her touch. A sharp cut of her riding-whip followed, on his flank, and the animal bolted out into the clearing, turning to give her one last reproachful look.
Then he jogged along the edge of the woods, grazing as he went, toward the Pelicans ' position.
Agnes walked boldly across the clearing, a tiny figure in white, toward the Federal works. It seemed as if she would never draw near to them — they appeared to be retreating, mockingly, before her.
An officer stood up and leveled a field-glass at her. What he must have said caused a row of heads to pop up and to survey her as a marvelous curiosity.