Each little soldier did his best. The officers worked faithfully. The engineer came round often, and the dark thread across the bright, green meadow spun out rapidly.
“Let’s elect Frank quartermaster,” said Tommy; “then he’ll go to headquarters, and make requisition for rations. I think it’s time for dinner.”
“Tell mother to send a big basketful, Frank. Soldiers get awful hungry,” said Percy.
“Tell mother we want to make coffee in the field, too,” said George. “Real soldiers do.”
I fear that Patrick and Michael did most of the work after this, for the department of the commissary seemed to require the attention of all the boys.
Mamma was willing to issue rations in the field. “But,” said she, “soldiers often have only hard tack and coffee. I suppose you will want nothing more.”
This was a view of the case for which the boys were not prepared. They did not wish to seem unsoldierly, but they were very hungry.
“You know, mother,” said Percy, “soldiers had bacon sometimes with their hard tack.”
“And we are only playing soldiers. We ain’t real soldiers,” said matter-of-fact Clarence.
His brothers were quite ashamed that he should give this as a reason for wanting a good dinner, yet when they saw the pies and cakes going into the basket, they made no remarks.