Horace was not much of a public speaker; he threw words together just as it happened; but there was so much meaning in the twistings of his face, the jerkings of his head, and the twirlings of his thumbs, that if you were looking at him you must know what he meant.
"Ay, ay!" piped the little boys in chorus.
"Then I'll muster you in," said Horace, grandly. "Has everybody brought their guns?—I mean sticks, you know!"
"Ay, ay!"
"I want to be corporal," said Peter Grant.
"I'll be major," cried Willy Snow.
"There, you've spoke," shouted the captain. "I wish there was a tub or bar'l to stand you on when you talk."
After some time an empty flour barrel was brought, and placed upright under a tree, to serve as a dunce-block.
"Now we'll begin 'new," said the captain. "Those that want to be mustered, rise up their hands; but don't you snap your fingers."
The caution came too late for some of the boys; but Horace forgave the seeming disrespect, knowing that no harm was intended.