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"Good-day, sir," she said, with forced severity, but as I smiled apologetically and moved my rein, she broke down under new temptation and, as the wagon moved away, twittered after me unseen,--"Good-bye, Mr. Smith."

"Who?" I cried. "What! You don't mean to say--was that Lieutenant Ferry?"

Major Harper was the most capable officer on the brigade staff. I had never met a man of such force and dignity who was so modestly affable. His new clerk dined with him that first day, at noon in his tent, alone. Hot biscuits! with butter! and rock salt. Fried bacon also--somewhat vivacious, but still bacon. When the tent began to fill with the smoke of his meerschaum pipe, and while his black boy cleared the table for us to resume writing, we talked of books. Here was joy! I vaunted my love for history, biography, the poets, but spoke lightly of fiction.

"And a suit of unie-fawm!" called Cécile, with her Creole accent.

"Nor no woman?" I asked, and again across the back of my neck my two companions gazed at each other.

He spurted a pint to reply, "Fishe's batt'ry."

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