ent on amicably.

Now, there lived in the house an old English man servant named Jerry
Pike. He had formerly been a groom and attendant on Peter's uncle, Major
Schermerhorn, and volunteered in the army at the time of the war with
Mexico, that he might follow his dear master, whom he had served and
loved ever since the Major was a mere boy. He had fought bravely beside
him in many a hard battle, and, for his gallant conduct, been promoted
to the rank of sergeant. When the hand of death removed that kind
master, Mr. Schermerhorn had gladly taken Jerry to his own house, and
promised him that should be his home as long as he lived. So now, like
a gallant old war horse, who has a fresh green paddock, and lives in
clover in his infirm age, Jerry not only stood at ease, but lived at
ease; and worked or not as he felt disposed.

When breakfast was over, Peter suddenly cried out, "I say, fellows,
suppose we employ ourselves by having a drill! You know old Jerry that I
told you about? I'll ask him to give us a lesson!"

"Yes! that will be grand fun!" said Freddy. "Do go and find him, Peter;
I should really like to learn how to drill as the soldiers do; so when
General McClellan comes along, he'll admire us as much as the English
General, old Sir Goutby Slogo, did the Seventh Regiment when they
paraded before the Prince. 'Really, most extraordinary style of marching
these American troops have,' said he, 'most hequal to the 'Orse Guards
and the Hoxford Blues coming down Regent street!'"

Meanwhile, Peter had scampered off to the house, and in a short time
returned with a comical-looking little old man, dressed in faded
regimentals.

He touched his cap to the boys as he approached, in military style, and
then drew himself up so very stiff and straight, awaiting their orders,
that, as Freddy whispered to Tom, it was a perfect wonder he didn't snap
short off at the waist.

"Now, Jerry," began the Colonel, "we want you to give us a _real_
drill, you know, just as you used to learn."

"Yes, a regular one!" chimed in the rest; "we'll run for our guns."

"Not fur your fust drill, I reckon, genl'men. You'll do bad enough
without 'em, hech, hech!" cackled Jerry.

"Very well--come begin then, Jerry!" cried impatient Will.

"Are ye all ready?"

"Yes, and waiting."

"Then, genl'men, FALL IN!" exclaimed the sergeant, the first two words
being uttered in his natural voice, but the last in an awful sepulchral
tone, like two raps on