"My name's Josiah Klegg, sir," said the Deacon, prudently ignoring titles. "I'm from Injianny, and am down here 'tendin' to my son, who belongs to Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volunteers, and who was shot at Chickamaugy. I borryed this hoss and wagon from a man out in the country to bring in some vittles for him and his pardner, and some boughs for 'em to sleep on, and I'm takin' 'em back to him."
"Well, my boy," said Si, with as much paternalism as if he had been a grandfather, "you must begin right now, by actin' like a real soldier. First, you mustn't call me mister. Mustn't call nobody mister in the army. My name's Sergeant Klegg. This other man is Corporal Elliott, You must always call us by those names, When you speak to either of us you must take the position of a soldierstand up straight, put your heels together, turn your toes out, and salute, this way."
The Deacon had grown so wise in the army ways that his first problem was how to hide the remaining four fowls until he should need them."Seems so to me," answered Alf. "Seems to me there was just millions of 'em, and we only got away with a little passel, in spite of all that shootin'. Why, when we come out on the ridge the valley down there seemed fuller of 'em than it was at first.""So I thought. You weren't with us at Stone River, or Chickamauga, or Mission Ridge. You'd know more if you had been. Your mental horizon would have been enlarged, so to speak. Aren't you from Milwaukee?"WITH ALL THEIR RECRUITS."But the middle finger is more natural," persisted Monty. "You can't stand straight with your little finger at the seam. See here."
