nd again
he saw no one upon whom he could fix his suspicions. The good Deacon
began to find the "old Adam rising within him," but as a faithful member
of the church he repressed his choler.

"I can't hardly believe all that Si and Shorty said about the dishonesty
of Co. Q," he communed with{208} himself. "Many o' the boys in it I know
they're right from our neighborhood. Good boys as ever lived, and honest
as the day is long. Some o' them belonged to our Sunday school. I
can't believe that they've turned out bad so soon. Yet it looks awful
suspicious. The last one I see around here was Jed Baskins. His father's
a reggerly ordained preacher. Jed never could 've took them beans. But
who on airth done it?"

The Deacon carefully fastened the door of the cabin, and proceeded with
his camp-kettle to the spring to get some water. He found there quite
a crowd, with many in line waiting for their chance at the spring. He
stood around awhile awaiting his chance, but it did not seem to get any
nearer. He said something about the length of time it took, and a young
fellow near remarked:

"Here, Uncle, give me your kittle. I'll git it filled for you."

Without a thought the Deacon surrendered the kettle to him, and he took
his place in line. The Deacon watched him edging up toward the spring
for a minute or two, and then his attention was called to a brigade
manuvering in a field across the river. After awhile he thought
again about his kettle, and looked for the kindly young man who had
volunteered to fill it. There were several in the line who looked like
him, but none whom he could positively identify as him.

"Which o' you boys got my kittle?" he inquired, walking along the line.

"Got your kittle, you blamed teamster," they an swered crossly. "Go away
from here. We won't{209} allow teamsters at this spring. It's only for
soldiers. Go to your own spring."

His kettle was gone, too. That was clear. As the Deacon walked back to
the cabin he was very hot in the region of his collar. He felt quite
shame faced, too, as to the way the boys would look on his management,
in the face of the injunctions they had given him at parting. His temper
was not improved by discovering that while he was gone someone had
carried off the bigger part of the wood he had laboriously chopped and
piled up in front of the cabin. He sat down in the doorway and meditated
angrily:

"I'll be dumbed (there, I'm glad that Mariar didn't hear me say that.