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"Who--o?" It was not one who asked; the whos came like shrapnel; and when, not knowing what else to do, I smiled as one dying, there went up a wail of mirth that froze my blood and then heated it to a fever. The company howled. They rolled over one another, crying, "Charlie Toliver!--Charlie Toliver!--Oh, Lord, where's Scott Gholson!--Charlie Toliver!"--and leaped up and huddled down and moaned and rolled and rose and looked for me.

"I've been awake for forty-eight hours, Major. But--oh, I'm not sleepy."

"We've got a letter for you from her!" exclaimed Camille.

"Good-evening," replied the nearer man. "How far is it to camp--Austin's?"

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