"Orderly, I'd like to git off a little while today." "Why, Shorty," remonstrated the busy Sergeant, "you were off yesterday. But go. I'll try to get along without you. Don't stay long."
Shorty would not trust himself to more than look at the outside, until he had gained a safe screen behind a clump of bushes. Then he took out his knife, carefully slit the envelope, and read:
Dear Mr. Elliot—
I take my pen in hand to inform you that we are all in good
health and hope you are enjoyin' the same blessing fur which
we should all be thankful to God. I am over on a visit to
Prairie Hen and Mrs. Skidmore a widow woman called to see me
today In the course of conversation she said her little boy
Peter had run off and shed hurd hed joined the 200th Indiana
Volunteer Infantry. She heard that we had folks in that
regiment and so had come over to see me to see if I knowed
anybody that would give her any news about her boy so as she
could ask them to look out for him. I told her I knowed a
gentleman in the 200th Indiana who would look out for Peter
and be a second father to him and as soon as she had went I
started this epistle. I thot id answer my letters because
its all he can do to write answer my letter because its all
he can do to write to mother and Annabel and dont write to
mother haf often enuf besides id like to hear from you
myself. Sincerely Yore Friend
Maria Klegg.
"M-a-r-i-a-r K-l-e-g-g," gasped Shorty, spelling over the letters, one at a time, to make sure that his eyes were not making a fool of him. "And she'd like to hear from me."
And he took off his hat, and fanned his burning face.