e their names, you see."

Which fact Frank had already noticed with no little astonishment.

The names were lettered on the canvas of the tents in characters far more
grotesque than elegant One was called the "Crystal Palace;" another, the
"Mammoth Cave;" a third bore the mystical title of "Owl House;" while a
fourth displayed the sign of the "Arab's Home;" etc.

"My traps are in the 'Young Volunteer,'" said Jack. "We give it that
name, because we are all of us young fellows in there. You can tie up
here too,"--entering the tent,--"if you want to."

Frank gladly accepted the proposition. "How odd it must seem," he said,
"to live and sleep under canvas!"

"You'll like it tip-top, when you get used to it," remarked Jack, with an
air of old experience.

Frank made haste to take off his civil suit and put on his soldier
clothes. Jack pronounced the uniform a splendid fit, and declared that
his friend looked "stunning."

"But you must have your hair cut, Frank. Look here; this is the fighting
trim!" and Jack Winch, pulling off his cap, made Frank laugh till the
tears came into his eyes, at the ludicrous sight. Jack's hair had been
clipped so close to his head that it was no longer than mouse's hair,
giving him a peculiarly grim and antique appearance.

"You look like Sinbad's Old Man of the Sea!" exclaimed Frank. "I won't
have my hair cut that way!"--feeling of his own soft brown curls, which
his mother was so fond of, and which he meant to preserve, if only for
her sake.

"Pshaw! you look like a girl! Come, Frank, there's a fellow in the 'Owl
House' that cuts all the hair for our company."

But here an end was put to the discussion by some of the boys without
crying, "Dinner!"

"Dinner!" repeated Jack. "Hurrah! let's go and draw our rations."

Three or four young volunteers now came into the tent, and, opening their
haversacks, drew forth their tin plates, knives and forks. Frank did the
same, and observing that they all took their tin cups, he took his also,
and followed them, with quite as much curiosity as appetite, to the
cook-shop, where a large piece of bread and a thick slice of boiled beef
was dealt out to each, together with a cup of coffee.

"How droll it seems to eat rations!" said Frank, on their return, seating
himself on his bed,--a tick filled with straw,--and using his lap for a
table.

The bread was sweet; but the beef was of not quite so fine a quality as
Frank had been used to at home and