On reaching the camping ground the arms were stacked, and the tents, which had already arrived, were distributed among the different companies and pitched at the tap of the drum. Then working-parties were detailed to grade and ditch the streets, provide fire-wood for the kitchens and to perform various other duties, and when they were relieved at four o’clock in the afternoon, the little camp presented a scene of neatness and order with which the most exacting officer could not have found a word of fault.
There were several orders read that night on dress-parade, and among them was one that expressly prohibited “foraging.” Don could not see the necessity for such an order, so he waited for an opportunity to speak to Egan about it.
“It means,” said the latter, in response to Don’s inquiries, “that we mustn’t steal anything from the farmers hereabouts.”
“So I supposed. But who is there among us who would be mean enough to do such a thing?”
“I don’t know about it’s being mean,” replied the sergeant, in a tone of voice that made Don open his eyes. “We want something good to eat, don’t we?”
“Of course we do; but why can’t we buy what we want? We’ve all got a little pocket-money.”
“That’s very likely; but it is cheaper to forage.”
“But suppose you are caught at it?”
“That’s your lookout. You must be sharp enough to get away with your plunder after you have secured it.”
“I’ll not try it,” said Don, decidedly. “I’ve had trouble enough this term, and I am not going to have any more black marks placed against my name if I can help it. Besides, I don’t see what there is to steal.”