During the war, one of those lovely ladies, who devoted themselves to relieving the sufferings of the soldiers, was going through a ward of a crowded hospital. There she found two convalescent soldiers sawing and hammering, making such a noise that she felt it necessary to interfere in her gentle way.
“Why,” she said, “what is this?–what are you doing?”
“What we doin’? Makin’ a coffin–that’s what.”
“A coffin? indeed, and whom is it for?”
“Who for? that feller over there”—pointing behind him.
The lady looked, and saw a man lying on his white bed, yet alive, who seemed to be watching what was being done.
“Why,” she said, in a low voice, “that man isn’t dead. He is alive, and perhaps he won’t die. You had better not go on.”
“Go on! Yes, yes, we shall. The doctor he told us. He said, make the coffin; and I guess he know’d what he giv’ him.”