"Now, boys, what are you fighting about?—Say, For our country!"
"For our country," shouted the soldiers, some in chorus, and some in solo.
"And our flag," added Horace, as an after-thought.
"And our flag," repeated the boys, looking at the little banner of stars and stripes, which was fastened to the stump of a tree, and faintly fluttered in the breeze.
"Long may it wave!" cried Horace, growing enthusiastic, and pointing backward to the flag with a sweep of his thumb.
"There ain't a 'Secesh' in this company; there ain't a man but wants our battle to beat! If there is, we'll muster him out double-quick."
A few caps were flourished in the air, and every mouth was set firmly together, as if it would shout scorn of secession if it dared speak. It was a loyal company; there was no doubt of that. Indeed, the captain was so bitter against the South, that he had asked his aunt Madge if it was right to let southernwood grow in the garden.
"Now," said Horace, "Forward! March! 'Ploy column!—No, form a line first. Tention!"
A curved, uncertain line, not unlike the letter S, gradually straightened itself, and the boys looked down to their feet as if they expected to see a chalk-mark on the grass.
"Now, when I say, 'Right!' you must look at the buttons on my jacket—or on yours, I've forgot which; on yours, I reckon. Right! Right at 'em! Right at the buttons!"