WAR
"Betsy, the cook," says I, "but she's no lady. Hired. Anyhow, ladies don't count."
"Let us see her," commands the officer.
I calls her and Betsy comes. She's so fat I have to step aside so she can get through the door. They all laughs and the officer says:
"Betsy, go back to your cooking."
"And next, you'll be asking for pies!" says Betsy, wheeling so sudden she almost knocked me over.
"Ah! Wait!" calls the officer. "You, yourself, have sealed their doom, Betsy. We haven't time to stop for the dinner you are cooking. But—pies!"
He opens his haversack and shows that it is empty. And, at a motion from him, his men do the same.
"Betsy," he goes on, "these brave fellows are fighting for you—that you may stay here—and bake pies—for, I can see in one look, that you are Union. Now, Betsy, what do you think?" He points to the empty haversacks.
Says Betsy:
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