At a Girl's Mercy, or, The Fortunes of War — page 95: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

84 AT A GIRI’S MERCY. war, and the dangers threatening the city at any mo- ment, when there should be an uprising if the popu- lation resented too strongly their being drafted into the ranks against their will—the rough rabble that had no pride of country, being mostly but aliens therein, and who cared for nothing but the low life of inactivity, living from hand to mouth, glad of a meal if it could be had, sleeping off the pangs of hunger if it was unattainable, railing against fate that had given some so much more than others, in their blind fashion. She drew her father almost un- consciously to talk of these things, determined to help fight the home battles, be they ever so small, compared to the terrible struggles going on in the fields where the men were dying day by day for the good of their fellow creatures. It was almost an ignominious battle, she said to herself many a time, thinking over the simple little words of comfort she could utter to relieve the overwrought nerves of the man depending upon her for comfort, now that the dearest woman to him was lying unconscious of his thought of her, and his boys, and the sweet girl, his sole comforter, and the throes of agony going on in the heart of his country. It was nothing that she was doing compared with the grand work Helen’s white fingers were even now doing for the suffering soldiers brought to her care, suffering, dying, cheered by the grave face they must love for its purity and nobleness, bending, as Nan knew it would bend, above some other poor lad dying as that lad died, whose death she had never forgotten, described as it had been by Helen during their talks together, ere she left to join in the ranks of nurses so much needed, so hard to fill in spite of the will- ingness of the women to do their share for their comicboo <S co ¥ ok #