CHAPTER XVI.
NEWS DIRECT FROM JIMMIE.
That night, as Rose sat alone in her cheerful boudoir, musing upon the strange events which had occurred within the last few months, a letter was brought to her, bearing her mother’s handwriting. It had passed hers on the road, and Rose tore it open, starting, as a soiled, tear-stained note dropped from the inside upon the floor. Intuitively she felt that it was from Jimmie, and catching it up, she read the homesick, heart-sick, remorseful cry of penitence and contrition which the weary Rebel-boy had at last sent to his mother. Stubborness and proud reserve could hold out no longer and he had written, confessing his error, and begging earnestly for the forgiveness he knew he did not deserve.
“I am not all bad,” he said; “and on that quiet morning, w
