ed Reardon's.

The story goes now that the stolen clip of ball cartridges has been found
and confiscated. Its location is ascribed to every company in the
regiment, including ours. Our blanks we use very freely, being supplied
every morning with any number from fifty up. And wherever we shoot them
in any quantity, buzzards still flock together to rummage in the
underbrush.

You ask the meaning of Retreat. It is the last ceremony of the military
day, when the colors are furled. The companies are called together, each
at the end of its street, so that they are in order one behind the other.
Sometimes we are drilled in the manual, sometimes we have rifle
inspection; but as soon as the bugle sounds the warning call we come to
parade rest. Then the band plays the Star Spangled Banner, after which we
stand at attention while the bugler plays the beautiful "To the Colors."
The flag is furled, and everyone not in line, cooks, orderlies, all
except the buzzards, likewise stand at attention during the call, and at
the end salute. Then promptly we are dismissed and allowed to hope for
supper.

Our diet is the same monotony of wholesome, plentiful food. I am
flourishing on it; Corder is proud of requiring nothing else. On the
other hand some complain, and Pickle, having a sweet tooth, at the end of
a meal will often go out and feed himself with boughten pies and
doughnuts. For you must understand that not only do the buzzards follow
us from camp to camp, but every farmer's wife along the line of march or
near our camp bakes a batch of her favorites and puts out a sign. Those
along the road must be disappointed; none of us ever fall out. But they
make a good sale outside the camp. David, who has become very strict with
himself, is trying to save Pickle from his indulgences, but so far
without success except that Pickle has become very sly about slipping
away.

A long letter, and I am cramped and stiff from sitting on the ground.
When shall I sit in a chair again?

DICK.

PRIVATE GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER

Thursday morning at West Sciota,
waiting to start.

DEAR MOTHER:--

The camp has been policed down to the last cigarette stub and gun patch,
or anything else that the captain's keen eye might light on. The call has
gone out, "Platoon leaders to the head of th