were citizen soldiers,
welded into a terrible machine by battle after battle and the genius of
a great leader, but with their youth they retained their personality and
independence. Affection was strongly mingled with their admiration for
Jackson. He was the head of the family, and they felt free to cheer
their usually dingy hero as he rode abroad in his magnificent new
uniform.

"I think we'd better cut across the woods to headquarters," said Harry.
"I want to see the arrival of Old Jack, and I'd wager any of you five
cents to a cent that he'll never wear that uniform again. Why, he
doesn't look natural in it at all."

"I won't take your bet," said Happy Tom, "because I'm thinking just as
you do. Arthur, here, would look all right in it--he needs clothes to
hold him up, anyway, but it doesn't suit Old Jack."

Their short cut took them through the woods to the general's quarters in
time to see him arrive and spring hurriedly from Little Sorrel. The man
whose name was a very synonym of victorious war was still embarrassed
and blushing, and as Harry followed him into the tent he took off the
gorgeous uniform and hat and handed them to his young aide. Then as he
put on his usual dingy gray, he said to an officer who had brought him
the new clothes:

"Give my thanks to General Stuart, Major, but tell him that the uniform
is far too magnificent for me. I value the gift, however, and shall
keep it in recollection of him."

The major and Harry took the uniform and, smoothing it carefully,
laid it away. But Harry, having further leave of absence went forth and
answered many questions. Was the general going to wear that uniform all
the time? Would he ride into battle clothed in it? When Harry replied
that, in his belief, he would never put it on again, the young soldiers
seemed to feel a kind of relief. The head of the family was not going
to be too splendid for them. Yet the event had heightened their spirits,
already high, and they began to sing a favorite song:

"Come, stack arms, men, pile on the rails;
Stir up the camp fires bright.
No matter if the canteen fails,
We'll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along,
There lofty Blue Ridge echoes strong
To swell the brigade's rousing song
Of Stonewall Jackson's way."

"It's a bully song!" exclaimed Happy Tom, who had a deep and thunderous
voice. Then snatching up a long stick he began to wave it as a