the elderberry Indians. It was
warned in time. If there was no war-whoop, the killing did n't count;
the artillery man got up and killed the Indian. The Indian usually had
the worst of it; he not only got killed by the regulars, but he got
whipped by the home guard at night for staining himself and his clothes
with the elderberry.

But once a year the company had a superlative parade. This was when the
military company from the north part of the town joined the villagers in
a general muster. This was an infantry company, and not to be compared
with that of the village in point of evolutions. There was a great and
natural hatred between the north town boys and the center. I don't know
why, but no contiguous African tribes could be more hostile. It was all
right for one of either section to "lick" the other if he could, or for
half a dozen to "lick" one of the enemy if they caught him alone. The
notion of honor, as of mercy, comes into the boy only when he is pretty
well grown; to some neither ever comes. And yet there was an artificial
military courtesy (something like that existing in the feudal age, no
doubt) which put the meeting of these two rival and mutually detested
companies on a high plane of behavior. It was beautiful to see the
seriousness of this lofty and studied condescension on both sides. For
the time everything was under martial law. The village company being
the senior, its captain commanded the united battalion in the march, and
this put John temporarily into the position of captain, with the right
to march at the head and "holler;" a responsibility which realized all
his hopes of glory. I suppose there has yet been discovered by man no
gratification like that of marching at the head of a column in uniform
on parade, unless, perhaps, it is marching at their head when they
are leaving a field of battle. John experienced all the thrill of this
conspicuous authority, and I daresay that nothing in his later life has
so exalted him in his own esteem; certainly nothing has since happened
that was so important as the events of that parade day seemed. He
satiated himself with all the delights of war.

XVIII. COUNTRY SCENES

It is impossible to say at what age a New England country-boy becomes
conscious that his trousers-legs are too short, and is anxious about
the part of his hair and the fit of his woman-made roundabout. These
harrowing thoughts come to him later than to the city lad. At least, a
gen