you can find. If any of my boys object, say I sent you."

The next Monday Stephen had a caller. It was little Tiefel, now a first
lieutenant with a bristly beard and tanned face, come to town on a few
days' furlough. He had been with Lyon at Wilson's Creek, and he had a sad
story to tell of how he found poor Richter, lying stark on that bloody
field, with a smile of peace upon his face. Strange that he should at
length have been killed by a sabre!

It was a sad meeting for those two, since each reminded the other of a
dear friend they would see no more on earth. They went out to sup
together in the German style; and gradually, over his beer, Tiefel forgot
his sorrow. Stephen listened with an ache to the little man's tales of
the campaigns he had been through. So that presently Tiefel cried out:

"Why, my friend, you are melancholy as an owl. I will tell you a funny
story. Did you ever hear of one General Sherman? He that they say is
crazy?"

"He is no more crazy than I am," said Stephen, warmly--

"Is he not?" answered Tiefel, "then I will show you a mistake. You recall
last November he was out to Sedalia to inspect the camp there, and he
sleeps in a little country store where I am quartered. Now up gets your
General Sherman in the middle of the night,--midnight,--and marches up
and down between the counters, and waves his arms. So, says he, 'land
so,' says he, 'Sterling Price will be here, and Steele here, and this
column will take that road, and so-and-so's a damned fool. Is not that
crazy? So he walks up and down for three eternal hours. Says he, 'Pope
has no business to be at Osterville, and Steele here at Sedalia with his