about me, and makes her think I know Shakspere by heart.
Wonder if I can't think o' some more? Hum--hum. Yes, here goes:

"The rose is red, the vilet's blue;
ime 4 the Union, so are U."

Shorty was so tickled over this happy conceit that he fairly hugged
himself, and had to read it over{135} several times to admire its
beauty. But it left him too exhausted for any further mental labor than
to close up with:

"No moar at present, from yours til death.

"Dan Elliott,

"Co. Q, 200th injianny Volunteer Infantry."

He folded up the missive, put it into an envelope, carefully directed to
Miss Jerusha Ellen Briggs, Bad Ax, Wis., and after depositing it in the
box at the Chaplain's tent, plodded homeward, feeling more tired
than after a day's digging on the fortifications. Yet his fatigue was
illuminated by the shimmering light of a fascinating hope.

CHAPTER X. TRADING WITH THE REBS

THE BOYS HAVE SOME FRIENDLY COMMERCE WITH THE REBEL PICKETS.

THE 200th Ind. Volunteer Infantry had been pushed out to watch the
crossings of Duck River and the movements of the rebels on the south
bank of that narrow stream. The rebels, who had fallen into the
incurable habit of objecting to everything that the "Yankees" did,
seemed to have especial and vindictive repugnance to being watched.

Probably no man, except he be an actor or a politician, likes to be
watched, but few ever showed themselves as spitefully resentful of
observation as the rebels.

Co. Q was advanced to picket the north bank of the river, but the moment
it reached the top of the hill overlooking the stream it had to deploy
as skirmishers, and Enfield bullets began to sing viciously about its
ears.

"Looks as if them fellers think we want to steal their old river and
send it North," said Shorty, as he reloaded his gun after firing at a
puff of smoke that had come out of the sumach bushes along the fence at
the foot of the hill. "They needn't be so grouchy. We don't want their
river--only to use it awhile. They kin have it back agin after we're
through with it."

"Blamed if that feller didn't make a good line{137} shot," said Si,
glancing up just above his head to where a twig had been clipped off
the persimmon tree behind which he was standing. "He put up his sights a
little too fur, or he'd 'a' got me."

Si took careful aim at where he supposed the lurking marksman to be and
fired.

There was a waving of the tops of the bushes