bent like a twig. His
head drooped as if his neck were of willow. He was sinking to the
ground, to lie face downward.

Collins grabbed him by the shoulder. "Here it is. Here's your drink.
Turn over. Turn over, man, for God's sake!"

With Collins hauling at his shoulder, the officer twisted his body and
fell with his face turned toward that region where lived the unspeakable
noises of the swirling missiles. There was the faintest shadow of a
smile on his lips as he looked at Collins. He gave a sigh, a little
primitive breath like that from a child.

Collins tried to hold the bucket steadily, but his shaking hands caused
the water to splash all over the face of the dying man. Then he jerked
it away and ran on.

The regiment gave him a welcoming roar. The grimed faces were wrinkled
in laughter.

His captain waved the bucket away. "Give it to the men!"

The two genial, skylarking young lieutenants were the first to gain
possession of it. They played over it in their fashion.

When one tried to drink the other teasingly knocked his elbow. "Don't,
Billie! You'll make me spill it," said the one. The other laughed.

Suddenly there was an oath, the thud of wood on the ground, and a swift
murmur of astonishment among the ranks. The two lieutenants glared at
each other. The bucket lay on the ground empty.

AN INDIANA CAMPAIGN.

I.

When the able-bodied citizens of the village formed a company and
marched away to the war, Major Tom Boldin assumed in a manner the burden
of the village cares. Everybody ran to him when they felt obliged to
discuss their affairs. The sorrows of the town were dragged before him.
His little bench at the sunny side of Migglesville tavern became a sort
of an open court where people came to speak resentfully of their
grievances. He accepted his position and struggled manfully under the
load. It behooved him, as a man who had seen the sky red over the
quaint, low cities of Mexico, and the compact Northern bayonets gleaming
on the narrow roads.

One warm summer day the major sat asleep on his little bench. There was
a lull in the tempest of discussion which usually enveloped him. His
cane, by use of which he could make the most tremendous and impressive
gestures, reposed beside him. His hat lay upon the bench, and his old
bald head had swung far forward until his nose actually touched the
first button of his waistcoat.

The sparrows wrangled desperately in the road, defying per