"There they are," exclaimed both boys.
"No, that is a picket," said their mother; "gallop on, Frank, and tell them we are bringing breakfast for the regiment."
Frank dashed ahead, and soon they saw a soldier ride forward to meet him, and, after a few words, return with him to his comrades. Then, while they were still a hundred yards distant, they saw Frank, who had received some directions, start off again toward the bridge, at a hard gallop. The picket had told him to go straight on down the hill, and he would find the camp just the other side of the bridge. He accordingly rode on, feeling very important at being allowed to go alone to the camp on such a mission.
As he reached a turn in the road, just above the river, the whole regiment lay swarming below him among the large trees on the bank of the little stream. The horses were picketed to bushes and stakes, in long rows, the saddles lying on the ground, not far off; and hundreds of men were moving about, some in full uniform and others without coat or vest. A half-dozen wagons with sheets on them stood on one side among the trees, near which several fires were smoking, with men around them.
As Frank clattered up to the bridge, a soldier with a gun on his arm, who had been standing by the railing, walked out to the middle of the bridge.
"Halt! Where are you going in such a hurry, my young man?" he said.
"I wish to see the colonel," said Frank, repeating as nearly as he could the words the picket had told him.
"What do you want with him?"
Frank was tempted not to tell him; but he was so impatient to deliver his message before the others should arrive, that he told him what he had come for.
"There he is," said the sentinel, pointing to a place among the trees where stood at least five hundred men.