ong while back," answered honest Sandy,--"before I knew
what the little girl could do. I've seen young folk work at gardening
afore, but you do beat 'em all. How could I tell you would, though? You
don't look it. Yes,--may-be you do, though. But you've changed since
_I_ first knew you."

"Why, I was nothing but a baby then, Sandy."

"Yes, yes,--I know; but you're changed since then!"

So they all spoke to Elizabeth, praising her, confiding in her with
loving willingness,--the Daughter of the Regiment.

The gardener was proud of his assistant, and seemed to enjoy the part
she took in his labor. They worked till noon, Elizabeth stopping hardly
a moment to rest. All this while the prisoner stood watching by his
window, and the gardener saw him. The sight occasioned him a new
perplexity, and he gravely considered the subject. It was a good while
before he said to Elizabeth, speaking on conviction, in his usual low
and rather mysterious tone,--

"There's some one will enjoy it when all's done."

"Who is that?" asked she, thinking he meant herself, perhaps.

"One up above," was the answer.

But though Sandy spoke thus plainly, he did not look toward the
prison,--and the prison was the last place of which Elizabeth was
thinking. It was so long a time since the cell with the window had an
occupant, that she was almost unconscious of that gloomy neighborhood.
So, when the gardener explained that it was one up above who would
enjoy her work, her eyes instantly sought the celestial heights. She
was thinking of sun, or star, or angel, may-be, and smiling at Sandy's
speech, for sympathy.

He saw her new mistake, and made haste to correct this also.

"Not so high," said he, cautiously.

Then, but as it seemed of chance, and not of purpose, the eyes of
Elizabeth Montier turned toward the prison-wall, and fixed upon that
window, the solitary one visible from the garden, and her face flushed
in a manner that told her surprise--when she saw a man behind the iron
bars.

"Oh," said she, looking away quickly, as if conscious of a wro