"
UNCLE TOM'S STORY.
I.
Some pine logs burned brightly upon the andirons in the wide,
old-fashioned chimney; and the Tyrrell children were comfortably seated
around the fire, roasting chestnuts and telling stories.
"Come, Uncle Tom, it is your turn!" cried Pollie, breaking in upon the
reverie of their mother's brother, who, seated in the old red
arm-chair, was gazing abstractedly at the cheery flames.
"Yes, please let us have something about the war," put in Rob.
"But everybody has been telling war stories for the last twenty-five
years. Do you not think we have had enough of them?" said the
gentleman.
"One never tires of hearing of deeds of bravery," answered Rob,
dramatically.
"Or of romantic adventures," added Pollie.
Uncle Tom looked amused; but, after some hesitation, said; "Well, I
will tell you an incident recalled by this pine-wood fire. It may seem
extraordinary; but, having witnessed it myself, I can vouch for its
truth. You consider me an old soldier; yet, though I wore the blue
uniform for more than a year and saw some fighting, I was only a youth
of eighteen when the war closed; and, in spite of my boyish anxiety to
distinguish myself and become a hero, I probably would never have
attained even to the rank of orderly, had it not come about in the
following manner:"
Our regiment was stationed at A------, not far from the seat of war.
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