It was a battered, war-scarred veteran that ambled into the pension-office one day last week, and slowly approaching the clerk of the office, asked, in a quavering voice, where he could get a pension.
"In what company did you serve?" asked the clerk.
"Company G, of the Sixth Volunteers."
"Ever injured in battle?"
The veteran drew himself up to his full height, which was distressingly little, and exclaimed, in as loud a voice as he could muster,
"Yes, sir; I was hit by a shell in the battle of Bull Run, and knocked all to pieces."
"Dear me!" said the clerk, smiling. "You're a wonderful veteran. Where do you live, and how do you manage to keep alive your many pieces?"
"That's the trouble, sir, and the very reason I want a pension, 'cause I've had trouble ever since taking up my quarters wherever I could find them."