I was wondering if I hadn't better supply Champe with extra
underclothing."

"Tut-tut, ma'am," protested the Major, warmly. "Can't you leave such things
as war to my judgment? Haven't I been in two? Months! Nonsense! Why, in two
weeks we'll sweep every Yankee in the country as far north as Greenland.
Two weeks will be ample time, ma'am."

"Well, I give them six months," generously remarked Champe, in defiance of
the Major's gathering frown.

"And what do you know about it, sir?" demanded the old gentleman. "Were you
in the War of 1812? Were you even in the Mexican War, sir?"

"Well, hardly," replied Champe, smiling, "but all the same I give them six
months to get whipped."

"I'm sure I hope it will be over before winter," observed Mrs. Lightfoot,
glancing round. "Things will be a little upset, I fear."

The Major twitched with anger. "There you go again--both of you!" he
exclaimed. "I might suppose after all these years you would place some
reliance on my judgment; but, no, you will keep up your croaking until our
troops are dictating terms at Washington. Six months! Tush!"

"Professor Bates thinks it will take a year," returned Champe, his interest
overleaping his discretion.

"And when did he fight, sir?" inquired the Major.

"Well, any way, it's safer to prepare for six months," was Champe's
rejoinder. "I shouldn't like to run short of things, you know."

"You'll do nothing of the kind, sir," thundered the Major. "It's going to
be a two weeks' war, and you shall take an outfit for two weeks, or stay at
home! By God, sir, if you contradict me again I'll not let you go to fight
the Yankees."

Champe stared for an instant into the inflamed face of the old gentleman,
and then his cheery smile broke out.

"That settles it, uncle," he said soothingly. "It's to be a war of two
weeks, and I'll come home a Major-general before the holidays."

BOOK THIRD

THE SCHOOL OF WAR

I

HOW MERRY GENTLEMEN WENT TO WAR

The July sun fell straight and hot upon the camp, and Dan, as he sat on a
woodpile and ate a green apple, wistfully cast his eyes about for a deeper
shade. But the young tree from which he had just shaken its last fruit
stood alone between the scattered tents and the blur of willows down the
gentle slope, and beneath its speckled shadow the mess had gathered
sleepily, after the mid-day meal.

In the group of privates, stretched under the gauzy shade on the trampled
grass, the first t