drinks." It was a sad pity, but he seemed to have no power over his
appetite. The allusion of Ben to his besetting sin was cruel and
mortifying, for the old man had certainly tried to reform, and since the
regiment left Boston, he had not tasted the intoxicating cup. He had
declared before the mess that he had stopped drinking; so his resolution
was known to all his companions, though none of them had much confidence
in his ability to carry it out.

"I didn't speak to you, Tom Somers," said Ben, sharply.

"You said a mean thing in my presence."

"By and by we shall be having a prayer meeting in our tent every night."

"If you are invited I hope you will come," added Tom, "for if prayers will
do any body any good, they won't hurt you."

"If you will take care of yourself, and let me alone, it's all I ask of
you."

"I'm agreed."

This was about the last of the skirmishing between Tom and Ben. The latter
was a little disposed to be bully; and from the time the company left
Pinchbrook, he had been in the habit of calling Tom a baby, and other
opprobrious terms, till the subject of his sneers could endure them no
longer. Tom had come to the conclusion that he could obtain respectful
treatment only by the course he had adopted. Perhaps, if he had possessed
the requisite patience, he might have attained the same result by a less
repulsive and more noble policy.