The next thing was a studio where he could conduct his literary task without interruption, and Shorty finally found a rock surrounded by bushes, where he could sit and commune with his thoughts. He got the cover of a cracker-box, to place on his knees and serve for a desk, laid his stationery down beside him, re-read Maria's letter several times, spoiled several sheets of paper in trying to get his fingers limber enough for chirography, and then, begun the hardest, most anxious afternoon's work he had ever done, in writing the following letter:
"Camp ov the 2 Hunderdth Injianny
"Voluntear Infantry,
"Mishun Rij, nere Chattynoogy, April the 10, 1864.
"Miss Maria Klegg,
"Respected Frend.
(This part of the letter had cost Shorty nearly an hour of anxious thought. He had at first written "Dere Miss Maria," and then recoiled, shuddered and blushed at the thought of the affectionate familiarity implied. Then he had scrawled, one after another, the whole gamut of beginnings, before he decided upon addressing her, as was her right, as formally as he would the wife of the President.)
"Yore letter was welcomer to me than the visit ov the
Pamaster, after six months exclipse ov hiz cheerful mug."
("I think 'mug' is the word they use for face in good society," mused Shorty, with the end of the penholder in his mouth. "At least I heard the Kurnel use it one day. She can't expect no man to be much gladder of anything than the comin' o' the Paymaster, and that orter please her.")
"Thankee for yore kind inkwiries az to mi helth? Ime glad to
say that Ime all rite, and sound in lung, body and runnin'
gear, and—"
(Shorty was on the point of adding "Hope that you are enjoying the same blessing," when a shiver passed through him that it might be improper to allude to a young lady's locomotory apparatus. After deep meditation, he took safety's side and added):
"So's Si. I sinserely hoap that you are injoyin' the
blessin's ov helth, and the konsolashuns ov religion."
("I'm not certain about that last," thought Shorty, "but I heard a preacher say it once, and it ought to be all right to write to a young lady.")
"We are still layin' in camp, but expectin' every day orders
to move out for a little soshable with Mister Joe Johnston,
whose roostin over on Pigeon Mountain. When we git at him,
there won't be no pigeon about it, but a game ov fox-and-
geese with us for the foxes.