ers were Harry Kenton, the staunch young Presbyterian,
Dalton, and the South Carolinians, St. Clair and Langdon. St. Clair
alone was impeccable of uniform, absolutely trim, and Langdon alone
deserved his nickname of Happy.

"Don't be discouraged, boys," he said as he pulled from the stalk an ear
of corn that the hoofs of the Northern cavalry had failed to trample
under. "Now this is a fine ear, a splendid ear, and if you boys search
well you may be able to find others like it. All things come to him who
looks long enough. Remember how Nebuchadnezzar ate grass, and he must
have had to do some hunting too, because I understand grass didn't grow
very freely in that part of the world, and then remember also that we
are not down to grass yet. Corn, nuts and maybe a stray pumpkin or two.
'Tis a repast fit for the gods, noble sirs."

"I can go without, part of the time," said Harry, "but it hurts me to
have to hunt through a big field for a nubbin of corn and then feel happy
when I've got the wretched, dirty, insignificant little thing. My father
often has a hundred acres of corn in a single field, producing fifty
bushels to the acre."

"And my father," said Dalton, "has a single field of fifty acres that
produces fifteen hundred bushels of wheat, but it's been a long time
since I've seen a shock of wheat."

"Console yourself with the knowledge," said Harry, "that it's too late in
the year for wheat to be in the stack."

"Or anywhere else, either, so far as we're concerned."

"Don't murmur," said Happy. "Mourners seldom find anything, but
optimists find, often. Didn't I tell you so? Here's another ear."

Harry had approached the edge of the field and he saw something red
gleaming through a fringe of woods beyond. The experienced eye of youth
told him at once what it was, and he called to his comrades.

"Come on, boys," he said. "There's a little orchard beyond the wood.
I know there is because I caught a glimpse of a red apple hanging from a
tree. I suppose the skirt of forest kept the Yankee raiders from seeing
it."

They followed with a shout of joy.

"Treasure trove!" exclaimed Happy.

"Who's an optimist now?" asked Harry.

"All of us are," said St. Clair.

They passed through the wood and entered a small orchard of not more than
half an acre. But it was filled with apple trees loaded with red apples,
big juicy fellows, just ripened by the October sun. A little beyond the
orchard in a clearing