and where is his letter?"

"I don't know whether to give it to yo' or not," said she. "Y're not the
men at all that he ascribed to me. He said yo' wuz very good-lookin',
perlite gentlemen, who couldn't do too much for a lady."

"Sorry we're not as handsome as you expected," said Si; "but mebbe
that's because we're in fatigue uniforms. You ought to see my partner
there when he's fixed up for parade. He's purtier'n a red wagon then.
Let me see the letter. I can tell then whether we're the men or not."

"Kin yo' read?" she asked suspiciously.

"O, yes," answered Si laughingly at the thought almost universal in
the South that reading and writing were--like the Gift of Tongues--a
special{182} dispensation to a few favored individuals only. "I can read
and do lots o' things that common people can't. I'm seventh son of a
seventh son, born with a caul on my head at the time o' the full moon.
Let me see the letter."

She was not more than half convinced, but unhooked her dress and took a
note from her bosom, which she stuck out toward Si, holding tightly on
to one end in the meanwhile. Si read, in Levi Rosenbaum's flourishing,
ornate handwriting:

"Corporal Josiah Klegg, Co. Q, 200th Indiana Volunteers,
in Camp on Duck River."

"That means me," said Si, taking hold of the end of the envelope. "There
ain't but one 200th Injianny Volunteers; there's no other Co. Q, and I'm
the only Josiah Klegg."

The woman still held on to the other end of the letter.

"It comes," continued Si, "from a man a little under medium size,
with black hair and eyes, dresses well, talks fast, and speaks a Dutch
brogue."

"That's him," said the woman, relinquishing the letter, and taking a
seat under the shade of a young cucumber tree, where she proceeded to
fill her pipe, while awaiting the reading of the missive.

Si stepped off a little ways, and Shorty looked over his shoulder as he
opened the letter and read:

"Dear Boys: This will be handed you, if it reaches you at
all, by Mrs. Bolster, who has more about her than you
think."{183}

"I don't know about that," muttered Shorty; "the last time I had the
pleasure o' meetin' the lady she had 'steen dozen bottles o' head-bust
about her."

"She's a Confederate, as far as she goes."

Si continued reading,

"which is not very far. She don't go but a little ways. A
jay-bird that did not have any more brains would not build
much of a nest. But