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He Tries the Butt of his Gun on It 041

"Wish somebody would shoot that durned Orderly," muttered Si Klegg. "For two cents I'd do it myself."

"COMPANY Q, tumble up here and git yer mail!" shouted the Orderly one afternoon, soon after the 200th Ind. turned into a tobacco patch to bivouac for the night. It had been two weeks since the regiment left Louisville, and this was the first mail that had caught up with it.

It seemed to the boys as if they had been away from home a year. For a whole fortnight they hadn't heard a word from their mothers, or sisters, or their "girls." Si Klegg couldn't have felt more lonesome and forsaken if he had been Robinson Crusoe.

Si waited anxiously to hear his name called as the pile letters rapidly grew smaller, and he began to think he was going to get left.

"Say, Cap, you've been ter collidge 'n' got filled up with book-larnin'; p'raps ye kin tell me what kind o' bug this is. I'm jest a little bit curious to know."

"Look at that 'ere poor feller; the only man left alive of his regiment! Great Cesar, how they must have suffered! Say, what rijiment did you b'long to?"

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