“Lots of them,” answered Allison, laughing. “I thought of that before I came away. I knew that the most acceptable offering I could bring to men stationed at these sequestered outposts would be the daily papers. I knew it would be too early for the newsboys; so before reporting myself at the parsonage, where our party assembled to start, I went the rounds of the printing-offices and astonished the printers by buying up the morning papers by hundreds. And we have been distributing them to the picket guards all along our way. And great gifts our boys thought them, I assure you. However, don’t be alarmed; we have saved enough for you.”
And so saying, Allison handed over a packet of newspapers, that was as welcome to the officer in command of this outpost, as ever was news from home to an exile abroad.
Meanwhile, with laughing and jesting, and much merriment, the picnickers were leaving the boat.
The hampers were brought on shore; a nice, high spot, a natural opening in the forest, was selected; the cloth was laid on the dry, burnished grass, and the feast was spread—a light repast of fruits, cakes and wines, for it was yet too early to think of dinner.
“But how about the guerrillas? Heard or seen anything of Monck and his band of brigands, lately?” inquired Mr. Allison of the captain, as they all gathered around the luncheon, and sat down upon the grass.
“Not a breath, not a sign of them for many weeks past,” answered the officer.
“That’s good. I’m glad to hear that. I shouldn’t like to have a raid made upon our party to-day.”
This was said jestingly, and the captain laughed as he replied:
“Oh, no fear of that. The guerrillas keep far enough away from our neighborhood. ‘All quiet along the Potomac,’ I do assure you.”
So in the evergreen wood they chatted, and jested, and laughed over the prolonged luncheon.