Then the iron-nerved soldier sat down on the grass and, clasping his hands over his knees, sat for a long time rocking back and forth and praying under his breath.
"God, take care of the little feller," he implored. "He's only a dog, but he's got a heart of gold and he's a soldier every inch of him. God, cover him with your feathers, just as it says in the Good Book. He is doin' it for us all. He's done what few men in this division would care to do. God, take care of him. Keep the great shells off him. Don't let him be afraid. I know he won't be, but he's just a dog, God; and it's hell out there in those woods.
"God, show him the way. It's dark and the noise is terrible. God, keep the bullets away from him. He trusts me and I sent him, and if he got killed I'd feel I killed him, so keep him all the way, God."
