LITMIR.BIZ

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On one of these forays a long-legged, awkward fellow, who could outrun the fastest chicken, chased an anxious hen into a thicket, where the grass was long and rank. As he peered round for his game he spied a dozen or so eggs shining in the sun. "Ah," he said, "my lady hen is stealing a nest. Well, they look white and fresh, and I'll just confiscate them." His pockets were full of sweet potatoes, he had a brace ot chickens slung over his shoulders, he had lost his handkerchief, if he ever owned one, and the problem was how to hold possession of the coveted prize.

      "I know how I'll fix it. I'll put them in my cap. I can carry them all right."

      The eggs were tenderly deposited therein, and he started for camp. He heard the boys who were still engaged in the chase laughing boisterously, and saw Rob Douglass, one of the new recruits, with a rope tied to one of the hind legs of a monstrous pig, who was jerking him right and left, in quite an unmilitary fashion. Now he was nearly on the animal's back, and next he was measuring his length on the ground, but he never once released the rope, while the shouts and cheers of the boys who were watching the contest made Rob more determined than ever to land his prize at the cook's tent.

      Zach Smith joined in the merriment and began to chaff Rob, whose face was grimy with perspiration, while his dust-covered clothes looked as though a good brushing and a few stitches would improve them materially.

      Seeing Zach he called to him to help haul in the "critter." The latter started toward him, but Mrs. Piggie was of the same mind, for she turned quickly and ran between his legs. Zach lost his balance and fell, and as he instinctively shot out his hands to save his eggs his head struck them squarely, while the liquid streaming down his face and neck sent forth such an odor that the men, who had inhaled many strange ones since leaving home, voted unanimously that that particular one "beat anything on record."

      Zach made his way back to his tent, followed by the jibes of his comrades, as he bade Rob, in very strong language, to settle the pig as best he could while he attended to disinfecting himself.

      CHAPTER VI. ANOTHER BATTLE

      "BOYS," said Lieutenant Graves, "we have our orders to turn out and show what we are made of. You know General McClellan has command of the Army of Virginia, and he thinks we've been rusting here long enough; so we're to help General Stone in drawing out the enemy. They've so far kept in hiding, and we've got to force them out into a square and open fight."

      "The General thinks we're spoiling for a battle, doesn't he?"

      "I suppose so. Anyway, we are to cross the Potomac at Conrad's Ferry and wake 'em up. General McCall has his hands full watching the river crossings, and we must help him do it." This was good news to most of the men, who had grown tired of inaction. The long summer had worn away, and Ralph had often slipped away from camp and run into the negro cabins near by, where he was sure of a nice piece of hoe cake, baked on the hearth. The garrulous darkeys liked to see Ralph coming, and many a question they put to him which he could scarcely answer, so little did he know of the true state of affairs.

      There are few idle moments in camp, for the duties of the soldier are too numerous to afford him that leisure which permits of homesickness. He has letters to write home, old ones to read; then, too, his spare time is occupied in looking for something to eat which his knapsack doesn't hold—not because his rations are scanty, or he is hungry, but he grows tired of the regular diet. He is always doing duty, police or fatigue, and the perpetual drilling, all keep him busy.

      Mending clothes became quite an art among the soldiers, and the manner in which some of them darned their stockings would reflect credit upon many a housewife who has the reputation of being an ex pert seamstress.

      Wash day in camp was as important an occasion as it is at home, and preparations were made with as much regard to convenience as the surroundings would permit.

      Ralph was very fond of running into old "Aunt Judah's" cabin, for her "pones" were especially toothsome. The old negress was not handsome—her black skin was shriveled and seamed with age; she was nearly blind, but she was an admirable cook.

      "Massa," she said to Ralph one day, when she had filled his knapsack with smoking hot pone and luscious sweet potatoes, whose pulp was as golden as the sunflower's petals,—"I'se been pondering in my own min' and I kaint see what you all is fighting 'bout. Clar to goodness I kaint."

      "We are fighting to make the Southerners come back into the Union."

      "De Union? What you mean by dat?"

      "The Union—the States. There are thirty-five States, and how many slabes does he own?"

      "None at all. We don't have slaves up North."

      "Don't hab slabes? Who totes your water and picks de cotton and hoes de fields?"

      "We don't grow any cotton, and all our work is done by people whom we hire and pay money to."

      The old slave's eyes opened wide with curiosity.

      "And when dey gets sassy, does de oberseer whip 'em?" Ralph laughed heartily as he thought of the suit for assault and battery whipping a servant up North would bring about. Here was an old colored woman as ignorant of her relationship to the great tide of humanity as a child. Born in the West in a little village where no negroes were to be found, he had seldom met one.

      The old woman seemed to be talking to herself.

      "It pears to me dey must be dissbedient and sassy sumtimes. All niggers are. Wonder how dey makes dem mind. When dey runs across a right smart uppish cullered pusson how do dey settle wid him? Did you say, massa, dey neber whip dem?"

      "No, auntie, they never do."

      Aunt Judah shook her head doubtingly. "Massa."

      "The one man governs the whole of them. Your old masters didn't like the man who was chosen, and so they said they wouldn't stay in the Union to be governed by him."

      "Is dat man a big man? Does he b'long to a good family?"

      I was plain to her the difference between servants North and South? To him slavery was a mere name. He knew nothing of its blighting understand how dreary and hopeless the life of a "chattel" broke out suddenly, "dey flogs dem down here; dey has to, sumtimes. I neber was struck a blow. I was a house servant, but my man worked on de plantation. 'Diamond Joe,' dey called him; he was lashed ebery now and den, and I tink it made him ugly. He was a likely boy. Wy, massa used to 'clar if he wan't so stubbon, jess like one of our plantation mules, he wouldn't take de price of two boys for him, for he could hoe and pick mo' cotton dan any 'mount of boys. His skin was as shiny as de satin in Missus' dress, and dark, and he was tall like de poplar trees, and strong and big. Joe lubbed me in dose days."

      Ralph looked at her wonderingly. Here was a new thought. Did those uncouth black folks care for each other as white people did? Were they capable of attachments? She was almost hideous—had she ever been young?

      A tear rolled down Aunt Judah's withered cheek, and she seemed to be looking far away. She was silent so long that Ralph began to be impatient to get back to camp with his knapsack full of good things.

      "Well, auntie, where is Joe now? He must be pretty old by this time."

      A solemn look stole over her features, and looking up to where the blue sky showed through the chinks in the little cabin roof, she said—

      "In Heben, I b'leeve. Oh, honey, it makes my heart heaby eben now, and offen and offen de tears dey makes my old eyes burn. Many a day I'se asked my hebenly Fader whar on dis big yarth my Joe was, but it must hab been wicked fur me to ask de Great King anyting 'bout a po' cullered boy, fur I neber had any answer. But Joe was a powerful hansum boy, de best one on de plantation."

      "How did he die?"

      "Die? I didn't 'spress my 'pinion dat he was dead. I has looked long for Joe, and I 'mos knows he must be gone up above, for he lubbed me and he lubbed de little missie—de little daisy, Missie Flossie. She was de only one who could bring him out of his tantarums, fer po' Joe did hab spells, when he was ugly. Massa Steve—he owned us bof—I 'members dat day well; it was a sunshiny day, de yarth was all carpeted wid de short, green grass, and de flowers filled de whole land wid deir sweetness. It was so bright my heart was singing a song, and Missus Flora wanted

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