ounts before the battle, Tucket screwed
up his face with a resigned expression, and received back the loan.

A great weight was now lifted from Frank's mind. The vexing problem, how
he was to retain the watch and yet satisfy Seth's rightful claims, was
thus happily solved. He could have danced for joy, barefooted, in the
grassy sand. And he yearned more than ever now to see Mr. Sinjin, and
make up with him.

A few rods off, in the rear of the soldiers' bivouacs, the old drummer
could be seen, sitting with a group of officers around a fire of their
own. His stockings were hung upon the end of a rail, and he was busy
roasting a piece of pork on the end of a stick, held out at arm's length
to the fire. Frank saw that it was no time to speak with him then; so he
returned to his place, and sat down to put on his shoes and join those
who had not yet been to supper, over their rations.

XXV.

ATWATER.

As the evening wore on, Atwater was observed sitting apart from the rest,
unusually silent and grave even for him; gazing at the fire, with the
book he had been reading closed and folded thoughtfully between his
hands.

Now Frank, following his example, had lately formed the resolution to
read a little in the Testament every night,--"if only for his mother's
sake." But to-night his Testament was in his knapsack, and his knapsack
was on board the schooner.

"I'll borrow Atwater's," he thought; and with this purpose he approached
the tall private.

"Sit down here, Frank," said Atwater, with a serious smile. "I want to
talk with you."

It was so extraordinary for the phlegmatic Abe to express a wish to talk
with any body, that Frank almost felt awed by the summons. Something
within him said that a communication of no trivial import was coming. So
he sat down. And the tongue of the taciturn was that night, for once in
his life, strangely loosened.

"I can't say it to the rest, Frank; I don't know why. But I feel as if I
could say it to you."

"Do," said Frank, thrilling with sympathy to the soldier's mysterious
emotion. "What is it, Abe?"

For a minute Atwater sat gazing, gazing--not at the fire. Then he lifted
from the book, which he held so tenderly, his right hand, and laid it
upon Frank's. And he turned to the boy with a smile.

"I've liked you from the first, Frank. Did you know it?"

"If you have, I don't know why," said Frank, deeply tou