CHAPTER XV.
"_There are some deeds so grand That their mighty doers stand Ennobled, in a moment, more than kings._" BOKER It was towards the evening of a blazing July day on Morris Island.

The mail had just come in and been distributed.

Jim, with some papers and a precious missive from Sallie in one hand, his supper in the other, betook himself to a cool spot by the river,--if, indeed, any spot could be called cool in that fiery sand,--and proceeded to devour the letter with wonderful avidity while the "grub," properly enough, stood unnoticed and uncared for.

Presently he stopped, rubbed his eyes, and re-read a paragraph in the epistle before him, then re-rubbed, and read it again; and then, laying it down, gave utterance to a long whistle, expressive of unbounded astonishment, if not incredulity.
The whistle was answered by its counterpart, and Jim, looking up, beheld his captain,--Coolidge by name,--a fast, bright New York boy, standing at a little distance, and staring with amazed eyes at a paper he held in his hands.

Glancing from this to Jim, encountering his look, he burst out laughing and came towards him.
"Helloa, Given!" he called: Jim was a favorite with him, as indeed with pretty much every one with whom he came in contact, officers and men,--"you, too, seem put out.