ces. We older heads know all about such little matters,
and what they amount to. Oh! yes, certainly we do.

The next morning found Hopeful, with a dozen others, in charge of the
lieutenant, and on their way to join the regiment. Hopeful's first
experience of camp-life was not a singular one. He, like the rest of us,
at first exhibited the most energetic awkwardness in drilling. Like the
rest of us, he had occasional attacks of home-sickness; and as he stood
at his post on picket in the silent night-watches, while the camps lay
quietly sleeping in the moonlight, his thoughts would go back to his
far-away home, and the little shop, and the plentiful charms of the
fair-haired Christina. So he went on, dreaming sweet dreams of home, but
ever active and alert, eager to learn and earnest to do his duty,
silencing all selfish suggestions of his heart with the simple logic of
a pure patriotism.

'Hopeful,' he would say, 'the Banger's took care o' you all your life,
an' now you're here to take care of it. See that you do it the best you
know how.'

It would be more thrilling and interesting, and would read better, if we
could take our hero to glory amid the roar of cannon and muskets,
through a storm of shot and shell, over a serried line of glistening
bayonets. But strict truth--a matter of which newspaper correspondents,
and sensational writers, generally seem to have a very misty
conception--forbids it.

It was only a skirmish--a bush-whacking fight for the possession of a
swamp. A few companies were deployed as skirmishers, to drive out the
rebels.

'Now, boys,' shouted the captain, 'after'em! Shoot to kill, not to scare
'em!'

'Ping! ping!' rang the rifles.

'Z-z-z-z-vit!' sang the bullets.

On they went, crouching among the bushes, creeping along under the banks
of the brook, cautiously peering from behind trees in search of
'butternuts.'

Hopeful was in the advance; his hat was lost, and his hair more
defiantly bristling than ever. Firmly grasping his rifle, he pushed on,
carefully watching every tree and bush, A rebel sharp-shooter started to
run from one tree to another, when, quick as thought, Hopeful's rifle
was at his shoulder, a puff of blue smoke rose from its mouth, and the
rebel sprang into the air and fell back--dead. Almost at the same
instant, as Hopeful leaned forward to see the effect of his shot, he
felt a sudden shock, a sharp, burning pain, grasped at a bush, reeled,
and sank to the ground.