holding him, and who was now detailed to act as soldier-servant to me still.

“Jack,” said I, “if there be fresh-baked bread in the regimental ovens yonder, fetch a loaf, in God’s name. I could gnaw black-birch and reindeer moss, so famished am I — and the Sagamore, too, no doubt, could rattle a flam with a wooden spoon.”

But our chief baker was a Low-Dutch dog from Albany; and it was not until I had bathed me in the Mohawk, burrowed into my soldier’s chest, and put on clean clothing that Jack Mount managed to steal the loaf he had asked for in vain. And this, with a bit of salt beef and a bowl of fresh milk, satisfied the Siwanois and myself.

I had been relieved of all routine duty, and was henceforth detailed