Now and then she wrote to me, and almost always ended by declaring she was “quite well, and almost happy.”  If ever she met with one of Frank’s men,—­and all who were left reenlisted for the war,—­he was sure to be nursed like a prince, and petted with all sorts of luxuries, and told it was for his old captain’s sake.  Mr. and Mrs. Bowen followed her everywhere, as near as they could get to her, and afforded unfailing supplies of such extra hospital-stores as she wanted; they lavished on her time and money and love enough to have satisfied three women, but Josey found use for it all—­for her work.  Two months ago, they all came back to Dartford.  A hospital had been set up there, and some one was needed to put it in operation; her experience would be doubly useful there, and it was pleasant for her to be so near Frank’s home, to be among his friends and hers.

I went in, to do what I could, being stronger than usual, and found her hard at work.  Her face retained its rounded outline, her lips had recovered their bloom, her curls now and then strayed from the net under which she carefully tucked them, and made her look as girlish as ever, but the girl’s expression was gone; that tender, patient, resolute look was born of a woman’s stern experience; and though she had laid aside her widow’s-cap, because it was inconvenient, her face was so sad in its repose, so lonely and inexpectant, she scarce needed any outward symbol to proclaim her widowhood.  Yet under all this new character lay still some of those childish tastes that made, as it were, the “fresh perfume” of her nature:  everything that came in her way was petted; a little white kitten followed her about the wards, and ran to meet her, whenever she came in, with joyful demonstrations; a great dog waited for her at home, and escorted her to and from the hospital; and three canaries hung in her chamber;—­and I confess here, what I would not to Laura, that she retains yet a strong taste for sugar-plums, gingerbread, and the “Lady’s Book.”  She kept only so much of what Laura called her vanity as to be exquisitely neat and particular in every detail of dress; and though a black gown, and a white linen apron, collar, and cuffs do not afford much room for display, yet these were always so speckless and spotless that her whole aspect was refreshing.

Last week there was a severe operation performed in the hospital, and Josephine had to be present.  She held the poor fellow’s hand till he was insensible from the kindly chloroform they gave him, and, after the surgeons were through, sat by him till night, with such a calm, cheerful face, giving him wine and broth, and watching every indication of pulse or skin, till he really rallied, and is now doing well.

As I came over, the next day, I met Doctor Rivers at the door of her ward.

“Really,” said he, “that little Mrs. Addison is a true heroine!”

The kitten purred about my feet, and as I smiled assent to him, I said inwardly to myself,—­