as I was
hanging round and saw you all by yourself on this old stump, I had a
feeling that you were in need of a cup of coffee. You haven't tasted real
coffee for some time, I guess."

The water was bubbling over and he measured out the coffee and poured it
slowly into the quart cup. As the aroma filled the air, he opened his
haversack and drew out a generous supply of raw beef which he broiled on
little sticks, and laid on a spread of army biscuits. The larger share he
offered to Dan with the steaming pot of coffee.

"I declare it'll do me downright good to see you eat," he said, with a
hospitable gesture.

Dan sat down beside the bread and beef, and, for the next ten minutes, ate
like a famished wolf, while the man in blue placidly regarded him. When he
had finished he took out a little bag of Virginian tobacco and they smoked
together beside the waning fire. A natural light returned gradually to
Dan's eyes, and while the clouds of smoke rose high above the bushes, they
talked of the last great battles as quietly as of the Punic Wars. It was
all dead now, as dead as history, and the men who fought had left the
bitterness to the camp followers or to the ones who stayed at home.

"You have fine tobacco down this way," observed the Union soldier, as he
refilled his pipe, and lighted it with an ember. Then his gaze followed
Dan's, which was resting on the long blue lines that stretched across the
landscape.

"You're feeling right bad about us now," he pursued, as he crossed his legs
and leaned back against a pine, "and I guess it's natural, but the time
will come when you'll know that we weren't the worst you had to face."

Dan held out his hand with something of a smile.

"It was a fair fight and I can shake hands," he responded.

"Well, I don't mean that," said the other thoughtfully. "What I mean is
just this, you mark my words--after the battle comes the vultures. After
the army of fighters comes the army of those who haven't smelled the
powder. And in time you'll learn that it isn't the man with the rifle that
does the most of the mischief. The damned coffee boilers will get their
hands in now--I know 'em."

"Well, there's nothing left, I suppose, but to swallow it down without any
fuss," said Dan wearily, looking over the field where the slaughtered ox
was roasting on a hundred bayonets at a hundred fires.

"You're right, that's the only thing," agreed the man in blue; then his
keen gray eyes were on Dan