me learn, and that's one reason why I want to run away,"
with a doleful remembrance of his own grievances. "What's the use of
it, I'd like to know? It cramps my fingers and makes my head ache. Simon
Kenton couldn't write his own name, but he killed more Injuns than ary
other man in the country. I guess you'd want to run away, too, if they
made you learn to write."

"You little brat," said Shorty reprovingly; "you don't know what's good
for you. You do as they say, and learn to write as quick as you kin."
Then, in a softer tone: "Now, Sammy, I want you to promise to write me a
long letter--two sheets o' foolscap."

"Why, I never writ so much in all my life," protested the boy. "It'd
take me a year."

"Well, you've got to, now, and it mustn't take you two weeks. Here's
a dollar for you, and when I git the letter I'll send you home a real
rebel gun. Now, you're to cross your heart and promise on your sacred
word and honor that you'll keep this secret from everybody, not to tell
a word to nobody. You must tell me all about what they say about me, and
partickerlerly what Miss Maria says. Tell me everything you kin about
Miss Maria, and who goes with her."

"What makes you like Maria better'n you do 'Mandy?" inquired the boy.
"I like 'Mandy lots the best. She's heap purtier, and lots more fun, and
don't boss me around like Maria does."

"That's all you know about it, you little skeezics. She don't boss you
around half as much as she ought to." Then gentler: "Now, Sammy, do jest
as I say, and I'll send you home a real rebel gun jest as soon as I get
your letter."

"A real gun, that'll be all my own, and will shoot and kick, and crack
loud?"

"Yes, a genuine rebel gun, that you kin shoot crows with and celebrate
Christmas, and kill a dog."

"Well, I'll write you a letter if it twists my fingers off," said the
boy joyously.

"And you hope to be struck dead if you tell a word to anybody?"

"Yes, indeedy," said the boy, crossing his heart earnestly. Shorty
folded up the piece of dress goods tenderly, placed it securely in the
breast-pocket of his blouse, and trudged over to the station, stopping
on the summit of the hill to take a last look at the house. It was a
long, hard walk for him, for he was yet far from strong, but he got
their before train time.

It was the through train to St. Louis that he boarded, and the only
vacant seat that he could find was one partially filled with the
belongings of a couple sitting