the coffee was not exactly like his
mother's.

"Here, have some milk," said Jack. "I've an account open with this
woman"--a wrinkled old creature, who came into the tent with a little
girl, bearing baskets of cakes and fruits, and a can of milk.

"No, I thank you," said Frank. "I may as well begin with the fare I shall
have to get used to some time, for I mean to send all my pay home to my
folks except what I'm actually obliged to use myself."

"You'll be a goose if you do!" retorted Jack. "I shan't send home any of
mine. I'm my own man now, ye see, and what I earn of Uncle Sam I'm going
to have a gallus old time with, you may bet your life on that!"

Frank drew a long breath, for he felt that the time had now come to have
the talk with his friend which Mr. Winch had requested.

"I saw your father, this morning, Jack."

"Did ye though? What did the old sinner have to say?"

"I don't like to hear you call your father such names," said Frank,
seriously. "And if you had seen how bad he felt, when he spoke of your
enlisting----"

"Pshaw, now, Frank! don't be green! don't get into a pious strain, I beg
of ye! You'll be the laughing-stock of all the boys, if ye do."

Frank blushed to the eyes, not knowing what reply to make. He had felt no
little pride in Mr. Winch's responsible charge to him, and had intended
to preach to his more reckless companion a good, sound, moral discourse
on this occasion. But to have his overtures received in this manner was
discouraging.

"Come," continued Jack, taking something from the straw, "we are soldiers
now, and must do as soldiers do. Have a drink, Frank?"--presenting a
small bottle.

"What is it?" Frank asked, and when told, "Brandy," he quickly withdrew
the hand he had extended. "No, I thank you, Jack, I am not going to drink
any thing of that sort, unless I need it as a medicine. And I am sorry to
see you getting into such habits so soon."

"Habits? what habits?" retorted Jack, blushing in his turn. "A little
liquor don't hurt a fellow. _I_ take it only as a medicine. You mustn't
go to being squeamish down here, I tell you." And Jack drank a swallow or
two, smacking his lips afterwards, as he returned the cork to the bottle.

By this time Frank's courage was up--his moral courage, I mean, which is
more rare, as it is far more noble, than any merely physical bravery in
the face of danger.

"I don't mean to be squeamish," he said; "but right is right, and wrong
is wrong,