The paper, its mission accomplished, had lodged at the base of a rock. Thence Emp dragged it and, professing to recognize in it a deadly yet very conquerable foe, shook it fiercely, accompanying his shakes with short, breathless growls of extreme fury.
“Here, you!” exhorted Jimmie, pouncing on Emp and forcibly taking the wad of paper from the dog’s reluctant paws, seeking to mask his own fall-shaken nerves under a display of juvenile bombasity. “Here, you; Emperor Napoleon Pete Bub Bonaparte Brinton Dog, Esq., you drop that! It’s a war-relic, and I’m a goin’ to keep it and show it to my grand-children.
“I’m goin’ to say to ’em: ‘You little numskulls, just you gaze on this yellowed sheet of parchment. Your grandfather had been a-ridin’ horseback, man and boy, for pretty near six months, when this priceless relic gave him his first fall.’ I’m going to inscribe on it—on it—
“Why, hello! There is something written on it already. I’ll have to rub it out and write my inscription over it.”
He had partly unfolded the paper as he meandered on.
Now he read aloud, slowly, and with difficulty deciphering the half-chewed screed:
“Special Order No. 191. Headquarters of the Army of Northern Virginia, September 9, 1862.
“The army will resume its march to-morrow, taking the Hagerstown road. General Jackson’s command will form the advance and, after passing Middletown, with such portion as he may select—”
“Aw, shucks!” yawned the boy. “Just a lot of military bosh. I kind of had a hope it might turn out to be something interesting.”
Dad, who had been loosening the girth of his foundered horse, turned sharply.