and spears into pruning-hooks, as saith the
Scriptures, their soldier folk turned clothing boxes into couches, soap
boxes into cradles, and pork barrels into _fauteuils_. Chintz and
calico, like charity, covered a multitude of sins, as declared in
unsightly cracks and knotholes. The finest reclining chair in all Camp
Almy belonged to the doctor, a composite of condemned stretchers and
shelter tent. The best dining-room set was sawed out from sugar
barrels, and, being stuffed with old newspapers and gayly covered with
cheese cloth and calico, rivaled in comfort, if not in airy elegance,
the twisted woodwork of Vienna. When it was known that Mrs. and Miss
Archer had descended upon the camp, and their beloved commander had
next to nothing by way of furniture with which to deck their army home,
every officer hastened to place his household goods--such "C. and G.E."
as did not belong to the hospital--at the general's disposal. The
Stannards sent three riveted, cane-bottomed, dining-room chairs and
their spare room outfit complete. Captain Turner, whose fair-complected
partner had not yet ventured to these destructive suns, sent bedstead
and bureau, the latter without knobs, but you could pry the drawers
open with the point of a sabre. The post trader drove up from the store
with a lot of odds and ends. Even the bachelors were keen to do
something. All of which Mrs. Archer most gratefully and smilingly
accepted and made mental note of for future return in kind. But, in
spite of the Stannards' contribution, the general stood firmly to his
prerogative and sat close on his throne--"The finest dining chair in
all Arizona, sir," as he often declared. "Sawed out from a standard oak
whiskey barrel at Old Port Buford in '58, according to my own ideas and
lines, and sound as a dollar to-day, sir, and it's only been covered
three times in all. Look at it!" And here, with a flourish, he would
whip off the seat. "Combination chair and butler's pantry, sir. Used to
keep my whiskey and tobacco there when the redskins had the run of the
post and thought nothing of searching our quarters. And now Doyle's
used it as the doctor prescribed, and then gone and forgotten it! Haw,
haw, haw! By Jove, but that's capital sherry! Cool almost as if it had
been iced! Harris, my boy, you don't drink!"

There was a moment's silence. Then the young officer answered, simply,
yet almost apologetically:

"Why--I never have, sir."

CHAPTER III.

I