"Wait, now. I 'll tell yeh. Lind me the loan av a match."
His hand shook as he took it. When the dottle of his pipe was glowing again, he went on, hoarsely: "Yeh mind, in thim days, the fire companies was a sort av military, too? Well, I was the best shot av the Young Americus Guard. An' whin we 'd p'rade home from a target excoorsion—an' that was a clam-bake er a chowder party, 's the case might be—there 'd be a big buck nigger at the head av us with the wooden target slung 'round his neck, an' somewheres about the middle av that butt there 'd be my mark, now, yeh cud be sure av that.… That 's how I come to jine the Zouaves—th' Ellsworth's Zouaves—the 'Pet Lambs' they called us—whin the war bruk out. I wint to pot holes in the ribils, an' Sleeman, that cud n't no more than hit a side av beef with his fat fist, he stayed to home, sure enough.
"An' he was the wiser man. But Hivens! there was 'liven hunderd av the boys listed from the fire-houses in three days, mind yeh! Sleeman must 've been as cold-blooded as one av his own steaks to 've stud the whoop that carried us all in.
"I wint to Molly. An', 'Molly,' I says, 'I 'm off to Washin'ton. I 've jined,' I says.
"'Jined?' says she. 'Jined what?' An' her hand was gone limp where I held it.
"'I 've listed with the boys,' I says. 'We 're goin' to defind Washin'ton.' An' with that she gave a little grunt, like some one 'd hit her in the wind, an' she come into me arms sobbin'.
