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trudged quietly at the youth's side. He was lis- tening with eagerness and much humility to the lurid descriptions of a bearded sergeant. His lean features wore an expression of awe and ad- miration. He was like a listener in a country store to wondrous tales told among the sugar barrels. He eyed the story-teller with unspeak- able wonder. His mouth was agape in yokel fashion. The sergeant, taking note of this, gave pause to his elaborate history while he administered a sardonic comment. "Be keerful, honey, you 'll be a-ketchin' flies," he said. The tattered man shrank back abashed. After a time he began to sidle near to the youth, and in a different way try to make him a friend. His voice was gentle as a girl's voice and his eyes were pleading. The youth saw with surprise that the soldier had two wounds, one in the head, bound with a blood-soaked rag, and the other in the arm, making that member dangle like a broken bough. After they had walked together for some time the tattered man mustered sufficient courage to speak. "Was pretty good fight, wa'n't it?" he timidly said. The youth, deep in thought, glanced up at the bloody and grim figure with its lamblike eyes. "What?" "Was pretty good fight, wa'n't it? "Yes," said the youth shortly. He quick- ened his pace. But the other hobbled industriously after him. There was an air of apology in his manner, but he evidently thought that he needed only to talk for a time, and the youth would perceive that he was a good fellow. "Was pretty good fight, wa'n't it?" he began |