CHAPTER XVI.
Rumors of a change in our cooking establishment made a little flutter amongst us. Things were going on so smoothly in the worn groove, that we hardly liked the prospect of adapting ourselves to a new order of things. The kitchens were so cleanly and well aired, and everything scoured to snowy whiteness. Brawny arms, with more than a Bridget's strength, reached the perfection of a model housekeeper's ideas in the cleansing of the unpainted tables and shelves.
But change was the order of the day—military rules were arbitrary, and we bore it all in outward silence.
Our mess-room was directly back of the medical dispensary, and our cooks made chairs for each, surprising us one day with seats independent of the movements of our neighbors. Owing to some oversight, or a mistake in somebody's arithmetic, we fell short one seat, and they extemporized a nail-keg, which, falling to the lot of one of our women, caused a storm of indignation to arise, and she left the table determined to avenge the insult. And she did report to the surgeon in charge, and was ridiculed for her
