olutioners, and kept over ever since.
That feller knows jest what he's writin' about. I'd like to exchange
photographs with him."

"Thou Shalt Not Swear." Shorty read a few words, got red in the face,
whistled softly, crumpled the tract up, and threw it away.

"On the Sin of Dancing," Shorty yelled with laughter. "Me dance with
these hoofs! And he thinks likely mortification'll set in, and I'll lose
'em altogether. Well, he oughter be harnessed up with Thompson's colt.
Which'd come out ahead in the race for the fool medal? But these seem to
be nice socks. Fine yarn, well-knit, and by stretching a little I think
I kin get 'em on. I declare, they're beauties. I'll jest make Si sick
with envy when I show 'em to him. I do believe they lay over anything
his mother ever sent him. Hello, what's this?"

He extracted from one of them a note in a small, white envelope, on one
end of which was a blue Zouave, with red face, hands, cap and gaiters,
brandishing a red sword in defense of a Star Spangled Banner which he
held in his left hand.

"Must belong to the Army o' the Potomac," mused Shorty, studying
the picture. "They wear all sorts o' outlandish uniforms there. That
red-headed woodpecker'd be shot before he'd git a mile o' the rebels
out here. All that hollyhock business'd jest be meat{126} for their
sharpshooters. And what's he doin' with that 'ere sword? I wouldn't
give that Springfield rifle o' mine for all the swords that were ever
hammered out. When I reach for a feller 600 or even 800 yards away I kin
fetch him every time. He's my meat unless he jumps behind a tree. But as
for swords, I never could see no sense in 'em except for officers to put
on lugs with. I wouldn't pack one a mile for a wagonload of 'em."

He looked at the address on the envelope. Straight lines had been
scratched across with a pin. On these was written, in a cramped, mincing
hand:

"To the brave soljer who Gits these Socks."

"Humph," mused Shorty, "that's probably for me. I've got the socks, and
I'm a soldier. As to whether I'm brave or not's a matter of opinion.
Sometimes I think I am; agin, when there's a dozen rebel guns pinted
at my head, not 10 feet away, I think I'm not. But we'll play that I'm
brave enough to have this intended for me, and I'll open it."

On the sheet of paper inside was another valorous red-and-blue Zouave
defending the flag with drawn sword. On it was written:

"Bad Ax, Wisconsin,

"Janooary the 14th,