nike salute to service 2018

"Borrowed!" echoed the sergeant. "If he doesn't own that mare no man does."

A sweet color was I. "Yes, that's what I said; Cockerel. Isn't your last name Cockerel?"

Westward likewise we soon were bickering. The morning sun shone high; the thin, hot dust blew out over the blackened ground of some forest "burn" or through the worm fence of some field where a gang of slave men and women might be ploughing or hoeing between the green rows of young cotton or corn. The level stretches were many, the slopes gradual, and to those sweet city-bird ladies everything was new and delightful; a log cabin!--with clay chimney on the outside!--a well and its well-sweep!--another cabin with its gourd-vines! They knew that blessed alchemy which turns all things into the poetry of the moment. Sweet they would have been anywhere to any eye or mind; but I was a homeless trooper lad, and sweeter to the soldier boy than water on the battlefield are short hours with ladies who love him for his banner and his rags.

"Front!" I once snapped out with a ring that made the trees reply and the ladies catch their breath. "If you steal one more look back here I'll put a ball into your leg."

"And yet you never take a lady's name for granted?"

The sound we had heard was only some stir of nature in her sleep. "I must go," I said.

"Even things she doesn't want told?"

"It was you who said it! and anyhow, it was you who had the strength to do it!"

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