"Great country, this," broke in the Quarter-Master. "Why a kill-deer couldn't fly over it without carrying a knapsack. You don't think that camping upon this meadow will injure it any, do you?"
"Right smart it will, I reckon," rejoined the man, his eyes kindling somewhat, "right smart, it will. $1500 at least."
"What! What did the land cost you?"
"Wall, I paid at the rate of $15 the acre for 118 acres, and the buildings and 12 acres on it are in this meadow, and the best bit of it, too."
"Then you want to make us pay nearly what the whole farm cost you for using the meadow a single night?"
"Wall, I reckon as how the rails will all be gone, and the sod all cut up, and——"
"Well, I reckon," interrupted the Quarter-Master, "that you ought to prove your loyalty before you talk about claiming damages from Uncle Sam."
"Oh! I'm on nary side, on nary side;" and he looked half suspiciously about the crowd, now somewhat increased. "I'm too old; besides, my left knee is crippled up bad," limping as he said so, to sustain his assertion.
"Where are your children?"