Billy! 'Tisn't a good
scout's way of doing."

Billy laid down horizontally upon the leaves the stick he had been
whittling. "Thar ain't anybody but home folks to smell it. Didn't we see
Ashby on the black stallion draw a line like that thar stick across the
Valley with a picket post for every knot?" He sat up. "Did you get
anything to eat?"

"I certainly did. There surely are good women in the land!" Allan
disburdened himself. "Rake the coals out and get the skillet."

Afterwards they lay prone upon the leaves and talked. They had much of
life in common; they were as at home with each other as two squirrels
frequenting the same tree. Now, as they lay beneath two clouds from two
briar-roots, they dwelt for some time upon Thunder Run, then from that
delectable region turned to the here and now. Allan had taught Billy,
finding him a most unsatisfactory pupil. Billy had in those days
acquired little book learning, but a very real respect for the blond
giant now lying opposite to him. Since coming to the army he had been
led to deplore his deficiencies, and, a week ago, he had suggested to
Allan that in the interim of active scouting the latter should continue
his education. "When thar air a chance I want to swap into the
artillery. Three bands of red thar," he drew a long finger across his
sleeve, "air my ambition. I reckon then Christianna and all the Thunder
Run girls would stop saying 'Billy.' They'd say 'Sergeant Maydew.' An
artillery sergeant's got to be head in ciphering, and he's got to be
able to read words of mor'n one--one--"

"Syllable."

"That's it. Now they aren't any printed books hereabouts, but you've got
it all in your head--"

"I can't teach you much," Allan had said soberly, "whispering under
bushes and listening for Schenck's cavalry! We might do something,
though. You were an awful poor speller. Spell 'sergeant'--now
'ordnance'--now 'ammunition'--'battery'--'caisson'--'Howitzer'--
'Napoleon'--'Tredegar'--'limber'--'trail'--'cannon-powder'--"

In the week Billy had made progress--more progress than in a session on
Thunder Run. Now, lying in the woods a little west of Mt. Solon, waiting
for the army moving back to the Valley, this time from the west, from
the Allegheny fastnesses, he accomplished with eclat some oral
arithmetic--"If two Yankee Parrotts are fired every eight minutes, and
in our battery we serve the howitzer every nine minutes, the Napoleon
every ten, the two six-pounders every el