andful of
the shining fruit, and deliberately picking the stems and dead leaves
from the sticky sides, preparatory to swallowing it. "He hasn't had
an attack since we thought those negroes and teams on the hills beyond
Cynthiana was John Morgan's Rebel cavalry."

"Yes," continued Abe, helping himself also the mellow date-plums, "his
legs are so sound now that he is able to go to every frolic in the
country for miles around, and dance all night. He's going to the
Quartermaster's now, to get a horse to ride to a dance and candy-pulling
at that double log-house four miles down the Harrodsburg Pike. I heard
him talking to some other fellows about it when I went up with the squad
to bring the rations down to the company."

"Seems to em, come to think of it, that I HAVE heard of some rheumatic
symptoms recently. Remember that a couple of weeks ago Pete Sanford got
a bullet through his blouse, that scraped his ribs, don't you?"

"Yes," said Abe, spitting the seeds out from a mouthful of honeyed pulp.

"Well, the boys say that Jake went to a candy-pulling frolic down in
the Cranston settlement, and got into a killing flirtation with the
prettiest girl there. She was taken with his brass buttons, and his
circus-horse style generally, but she had another fellow that it didn't
suit so well. He showed his disapproval in a way that seems to be the
fashion down here; that is, he 'laid for' Jake behind a big rock with a
six-foot deer rifle, but mistook Pete Sanford for him."

"The dunderhead's as poor a judge of men as he's marksman. He's a
disgrace to Kentucky."

"At all events it served as a hint, which Alspaugh did not fail to take.
Since that time there has been two or three dances at Cranston's, but
every time Jake has had such twinges of his rheumatism that he did not
think it best to 'expose himself to the night air,' and go with the
boys."

"O!---ouw!---wh-i-s-s-s-sh!" sputtered Abe, spitting the contents of his
mouth out explosively, while his face was contorted as if every nerve
and muscle was being twisted violently.

"Why, what is the matter, Abe?" asked Kent, in real alarm. "Have you
swallowed a centipede or has the cramp-colic griped you?"

"No! I hain't swallowed no centerboard, nor have I the belly-ache--blast
your chucklehead," roared Abe, as he sprang to his feet, rushed to the
brook, scooped up some water in his hands, and rinsed his mouth out
energetically.

"Well, what can it be, then? You surely ain't