lton.

"I don't know, but here comes Captain Sherburne, and I'll ask him."

Sherburne was approaching with long strides, his face flushed with
enthusiasm.

"What is it, Captain?" asked Harry. "What are the boys shouting about?"

"The news has just reached them that Old Jack has been made a
lieutenant-general. General Lee asked the government to divide his army
into two corps, with Old Jack in command of one and Longstreet in charge
of the other. The government has seen fit to do what General Lee
advises it to do, and we are now the Second Army Corps, two thousand
officers, twenty-five thousand men and one hundred and thirty guns,
commanded by Lieutenant-General Thomas Jonathan Jackson, better known
to his enemy as 'Stonewall' Jackson and to his men as 'Old Jack.'"

"Splendid!" exclaimed Harry. "Never was a promotion better earned!"

"And so say we all of us," said Happy Tom. "But just a moment, Captain.
What is the news about me?"

"About you, Tom?"

"Yes, about me? Didn't I win the victory at the Second Manassas?
Didn't I save the army at Antietam? Am I promoted to be a colonel or
is it merely a lieutenant-colonel?"

"I'm sorry, Tom," replied Sherburne with great gravity, "but there is no
mention of your promotion. I know it's an oversight, and we'll join in
a general petition to Richmond that you be made a lieutenant-colonel at
the very least."

"Oh, never mind. If it has to be done through the begging of my friends
I decline the honor. I don't know that I'd care to be any kind of a
colonel, anyhow. I'd have to pass the boys here, and maybe I'd have
to command 'em, which would make 'em feel bad. Old Jack himself might
become jealous of me. I guess I'm satisfied as I am."

"I like the modesty of the South Carolinians, Tom," said Dalton.
"There's a story going the rounds that you South Carolinians made the
war and that we Virginians have got to fight it."

"There may be such a story. It seems to me that it was whispered to
me once, but the internal evidence shows that it was invented by a
Virginian. Haven't I come up here and shed some of my blood and more of
my perspiration to save the sacred soil of the Mother of Presidents from
invasion? And didn't I bring with me Arthur St. Clair, the best dressed
man in Charleston, for the Yankees to shoot at? Hello, what's that?
This is a day of events!"

Hoots, cat-calls, and derisive yells arose along a long line. A trim
young officer on a fine