peace time a soldier. Mac had served his native country
in the "Forty Twa"; had come to the States a time-expired man; had met
his fate, married, and been bereft and deserted within two years, and,
like many another man, he had sought in the profession of arms the peace
denied him at the domestic fireside. Uncle Sam employs no recruiting
solicitors; he needs none, for the petticoat drives to his ranks more
men than he will take. Something of Mac's history was made known to his
colonel, and when Kennedy had to be replaced, although Mac had not been
a year in the regiment, Stone issued his mandate. "_There's_ the man for
the place," said he to the adjutant. "There'll be no peeping and prying
with that red-headed Sawny in charge."

Priscilla had not been slow to note the substitution, nor to divine the
cause. Priscilla had much disapproved of Kennedy, and Kennedy of her.
"That prayin', pryin', pesterin' old maid beyant," he described her to
the surgeon's becapped and bewitching Kathleen, the belle of the
non-commissioned officers' ball. Priscilla found in Presbyterian Mac a
far more promising subject, and was aggrieved and dismayed at her lack
of success. McPherson would only stand at salute, frigidly respectful,
but as icily impenetrable. Mac scented mischief at the outset. He had
heard much among the men about Miss Sanford's kindergarten, the Bible
class, the prayer meetings, and her persistent preachings against the
Canteen. Now, Mac himself disapproved of that institution, and hearing
of this--I fear me Sandy told her, and for motives altogether
mischievous--Miss Sanford had lain in wait for Mac, and held him one
brief moment in converse at the door. The story of that episode
delighted Minneconjou and the minority, let us say, when it was later
told in Congress.

"I'm so glad to hear, McPherson," said Miss Sanford, beaming upon him,
as she took from his hand the little packet of letters, "that you, too,
are one of the right sort of soldiers. Now, tell me why _you_ disapprove
of the Canteen," for Priscilla was sending that day another long letter
of experiences to the _Banner of Light_; and the reply came, prompt,
unflinching, uncompromising, but--most unsatisfactory:

"Because, mem, ye canna get a drap o' whusky."

And so saying McPherson was all simple sincerity. Bred to its use in the
raw fogs of his native glen, accustomed to his modest daily tot even
when on "sentry go" at the Castle, or the water gate at Gibral