oor, but who don't care much about
the laboring man. No, sir," said the old man, warming up to the subject,
"I will not take you kids to Pullman. I had rather take you to a
cemetery, or visit the homes of the cliff dwellers of Mexico. Now, go
wash up for dinner. You get me to talking, and I forget all about, my
rheumatism, and my dinner, and everything," and the old man started for
the house, and the boys looked at each other as though they had learned
something not in the school books.

CHAPTER XVIII.

It was the first cool and bracing morning since the extreme heat of the
summer, and Uncle Ike had begun to feel like going duck shooting. He
could almost smell duck feathers in the air, and he had put on an old
dead-grass colored sweater, with a high collar that rubbed against his
unshaven neck, and he had got out his gun to wipe it for the hundredth
time since he laid it away at the close of the last season. He looked
it over and petted it, and finally sat down in a rocking chair, with the
gun between his knees and a few cartridges in his hand that he had found
in the pocket of his sweater; and he got to thinking of the days that
he had passed, in the last half century, shooting ducks, and hoping that
the clock of time could be turned back, in his case, and that he might
be permitted to enjoy many years more of the sport that had given' him
so much enjoyment, and contributed so greatly to his health and hardness
of muscle. He was cocking the old gun and letting down the hammers in
a contemplative mood, and occasionally aiming at a fly on the opposite
wall, as though it was a cluck, when, the door opened and the red-headed
boy, accompanied by eight other boys, armed to the teeth with such
weapons as they could find, marched in and formed a line on the opposite
side of the room, and at the command, "Present arms!" given by the
red-headed captain, they saluted Uncle Ike. He arose from the rocking
chair, placed his shotgun at a "carry," and acknowledged the salute, and
said:

"If that horse pistol that No. 2 soldier has got pointed at my stomach
is loaded, I want to declare that this war is over, and you can go to
the cook and get your discharges, and fill out your blanks for pensions.
But now, what does this all mean? Why this martial array? Why do you
break in on a peaceful man this way, a man who does not believe in
shedding human gore, so early in the morning?"

[Illustration: We came to offer you the position