Frank, getting hold of the old
man's hard, rough hand; "and I shall be sorry to part with you, sir, very
sorry."

"Well, well." The veteran tried in vain to appear careless and cynical,
as he commonly did to other people. "You are young yet. You believe in
friendship, do you?"

"And don't you?" Frank earnestly inquired.

"I did once. A great while ago. But never mind about that. I believe in
_you_, my boy. You have not seen the world and grown corrupted; you are
still capable of a disinterested attachment; and may it be long before
the thoughtlessness of some, and the treachery of others, and the
selfishness of all, convince you that there is no such thing as a true
friend." And the old drummer gave his mustache a fierce jerk, as if he
had some grudge against it.

"O Mr. Sinjin," said Frank, "I shall never think so and I am sure you do
not. Haven't you any friends? Don't you really care for any body? Here
are all these boys; you know a good many of us, and every body that knows
you half as well as I do, likes you, and we are going off now in a few
hours, and some of us will never come back; and don't you care?"

"Few, I fancy, think of me as you do," said the old man, in a slightly
choking voice. "They call me _Old Sinjin_, without very much respect,"
grinning grimly under his mustache.

"But they don't mean any thing by that; they like you all the time, sir,"
Frank assured him.

"Well, like me or not," said the veteran, his smile softening as he
looked down at the boy's face upturned so earnestly to his in the
fire-light, "I have determined, if only for your sake, to share the
fortunes of the regiment."

"You have? O, good! And go with us?" cried Frank, ready to dance for joy.

"I've got tired, like the rest of you, of this dull camp life," said the
old drummer; "and seeing you pack your knapsack has stirred a little
youthful blood in my veins which I didn't suppose was there. I'm off for
the war with the rest of you, my boy;" and he poked a coal from the fire
to light his cigar, hiding his face from Frank at the same time.

Frank, who could not help thinking that it was partly for his sake that
the old man had come to this decision, was both rejoiced and sobered by
this evidence of friendship in one who pretended not to believe there was
such a thing as true friendship in the world.

"I am so glad you are going; but I am afraid you are too old; and if any
thing should happen to you----" Frank somehow fel