"Humph," mused Shorty, "that's probably for me. I've got the socks, and I'm a soldier. As to whether I'm brave or not's a matter of opinion. Sometimes I think I am; agin, when there's a dozen rebel guns pinted at my head, not 10 feet away, I think I'm not. But we'll play that I'm brave enough to have this intended for me, and I'll open it."
On the sheet of paper inside was another valorous red-and-blue Zouave defending the flag with drawn sword. On it was written:
"Bad Ax, Wisconsin,
"Janooary the 14th, 1863.
"Braiv Soljer: I doant know who you air, or whair you may
bee; I only know that you air serving your country, and
that is enuf to entitle to the gratitude and afl'ection of
every man and woman who has the breath of patriotism in
their bodies.
"I am anxious to do something all the time, very little
though it may be, to help in some way the men who air
fiting the awful battles for me, and for every man and woman
in the country.
"I send these socks now as my latest contribution. They aint
much, but I've put my best work on them, and I hoap they
will be useful and comfortable to some good, braiv man.
"How good you may be I doant know, but you air sertingly a
much better man than you would be if you was not fiting for
the Union. I hoap you air a regler, consistent Christian.
Ide prefer you to be a Methodist Episcopal, but any church
is much better than none.
"He be glad to heer that you have received these things all
rite.
"Sincerely your friend and well-wisher,
"Jerusha Ellen Briggs."
Although Shorty was little inclined to any form of reading, and disliked handwriting about as much as he did work on the fortifications, he read the letter over several times, until he had every word in it and every feature of the labored, cramped penmanship thoroughly imprinted on his mind. Then he held it off at arm's length for some time, and studied it with growing admiration. It seemed to him the most wonderful epistle that ever emanated from any human hand. A faint scent of roses came from it to help the fascination.
"I'll jest bet my head agin a big red apple," he soliloquized, "the woman that writ that's the purtiest girl in the State o' Wisconsin. I'll bet there's nothin' in Injianny to hold a candle to her, purty as Si thinks his Annabel is. And smart—my! Jest look at that letter. That tells it. Every word spelled correckly, and the grammar away up in G. Annabel's a mighty nice girl, and purty, too, but I've noticed she makes mistakes in spelling, and her grammar's the Wabash kind—home-made."
He drew down his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and assumed a severely critical look for a reperusal of the letter and judgment upon it according to the highest literary standards.
"No, sir," he said, with an air of satisfaction, "not a blamed mistake in it, from beginnin' to end. Every word spelled jest right, the grammar straight as the Ten Commandments, every t crossed and i dotted accordin' to regulashuns and the Constitushun of the United States. She must be a school-teacher, and yit a school-teacher couldn't knit sich socks as them. She's a lady, every inch of her. Religious, too. Belongs to the Methodist Church. Si's father's a Baptist, and so's my folks, but I always did think a heap o' the Methodists. I think they have a little nicer girls than the Baptists. I think I'd like to marry a Methodist wife."
Then he blushed vividly, all to himself, to think how fast his thoughts had traveled. He returned to the letter, to cover his confusion.
"Bad Ax, Wis. What a queer name for a place. Never heard of it before. Wonder where in time it is? I'd like awfully to know. There's the 1st and 21st Wis. in Rousseau's Division, and the 10th Wis. Battery in Palmer's Division. I might go over there and ask some o' them. Mebbe some of 'em are right from there. I'll bet it's a mighty nice place."
He turned to the signature with increased interest.