him, snatched the half-canteen from his hand, and threw
its contents on the ground.

"That stuff's not fit to put into an ostrich's stomach," he said. "Mr.
Klegg, you will have to watch this man very carefully."

"Can't I have none of it to eat?" said Shorty, dejectedly, with tears of
weakness and longing in his eyes.

"Not a mouthful of that stuff," said the Surgeon; "but you may eat some
of those crackers you have soaked there. Mr. Klegg, let him eat about
half of those crackers no more."

Shorty looked as if the whole world had lost its charms. "Hardtack
without grease's no more taste than chips," he murmured.

"Never mind, Shorty," said the Deacon, pityingly; "I'll manage to find
you something that'll be better for you than that stuff."

The Surgeon had the boys carried over to the corncrib, and the Deacon
went to work to make it as snug as possible. All the old training of
his pioneer days when literally with his own hands, and with the rudest
materials, he had built a comfortable cabin in the wilderness of the
Wabash bottoms for his young wife came back to him. He could not see a
brick, a piece of board, a stick, or a bit of iron anywhere without the
thought that it might be made useful, and carrying it off. As there were
about 40,000 other men around the little village of Chattanooga with
similar inclinations, the Deacon had need of all his shrewdness in
securing coveted materials, but it was rare that anybody got ahead of
him. He rearranged and patched the clapboards on the roof until it
was perfectly rain-tight, chinked up the spaces between the poles with
stones, corncobs and pieces of wood, and plastered over the outside with
clay, until the walls were draft proof. He hung up an old blanket for a
door, and hired a teamster to bring in a load of silky-fine beech leaves
which, when freshly fallen, make a bed that cannot be surpassed. These,
by spreading blankets over them, made very comfort able couches for Si,
Shorty and himself.

Then the great problem became one of proper food for the boys. Daily
the rations were growing shorter in Chattanooga, and if they had
been plentiful they were not suited to the delicate stomachs of those
seriously ill. Si was slowly improving, but the Deacon felt that the
thing necessary to carry him over the breakers and land him safely on
the shores of recovery was nourishing food that he could relish.

He had anxiously sought the entire length of the camp for something
of