of his pleasure."

"Wall, by Judas Priest!" said D'ri, "I would n't jump over a stump
over a stun wall t' please no emp'ror, an' I would n't cut off my
leetle finger fer a hull bushel basket o' them air. I hain't
a-fightin' fer no honor."

"What then?" said I.

His face turned very sober. He pursed his lips, and spat across
the ditch; then he gave his mouth a wipe, and glanced thoughtfully
at the sky.

"Fer liberty," said he, with decision. "Same thing my father died
fer."

Not to this day have I forgotten it, the answer of old D'ri, or the
look of him as he spoke. I was only a reckless youth fighting for
the love of peril and adventure, and with too little thought of the
high purposes of my country. The causes of the war were familiar
to me; that proclamation of Mr. Madison had been discussed freely
in our home, and I had felt some share in the indignation of D'ri
and my father. This feeling had not been allayed by the bloody
scenes in which I had had a part. Now I began to feel the great
passion of the people, and was put to shame for a moment.

"Liberty--that is a grand thing to fight for," said I, after a
brief pause.

"Swap my blood any time fer thet air," said D'ri. "I can fight