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"No-o!" he said, as if nobody but a gaping idiot would expect anybody not a gaping idiot to notice a leather-curtained spring-wagon. "No-o! did you notice the brown horse that man was riding who just now passed you as you turned off the road?"

My silence implied that I knew it, though I did not feel any brighter, happier or cleaner.

Just then entered an ordnance-sergeant, so smart in his rags that the Major's affability seemed hardly a condescension. He asked me to supper with his mess--"of staff attatchays," he said, winking one eye and hitching his mouth; at which the Major laughed with kind disapprobation, and the jocose sergeant explained as we went that that was only one of Scott Gholson's mispronunciations the boys were trying to tease him out of.

"Don't you know?" I asked.

"He told you?--Ah! you're only guessing," I said, and saw that I was helping her to guess more correctly.

"Are you going to count them?" It seemed so much easier to let them count us.

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