"Impossible, sir. It couldn't have been the soldiers of this regiment. My men are from New Hampshire, sir,--the Old Granite State,--the State of Daniel Webster and Franklin Pierce. My soldiers would scorn to do a mean thing, sir. They come from a moral community. They are above suspicion, sir," said Colonel Cross. "Will you have the camp searched, Colonel?" "I could not think of such a thing, sir. I should wrong the men. I would not have them think that I suspected them, sir. If an officer is continually suspecting his men they lose confidence in him. It never would do to let them mistrust that I had a doubt of their honor." The farmer visited other regiments, but with no better success. He could not find out who had taken the sheep. The evidence was all against the Zouaves, the pelts being in their encampment. At noon I dined with Colonel Cross. We sat around the camp-chest, which was our table. There was a saddle of mutton, hot, juicy, tender, and savory. "My cook has a wonderful faculty of finding mutton, chickens, and pigs," said the Colonel, "but I obey the injunction of the apostle Paul, to eat what is set before me, asking no questions for conscience' sake." As I passed through the camp, on my way to the Colonel's quarters, I saw that the soldiers generally were dining on mutton. "You live well," I said to a soldier. "Yes, sir, I found a leg of mutton last night. Strange, wasn't it?" He chuckled merrily and looked knowingly. "I'll tell you how it was," said he. "The Zouaves played a joke on us a while ago, so last night we paid them. We knocked over the sheep and divided the spoil. We kept the carcasses and left them the pelts. That was fair, wasn't it." He chuckled again as he thought of the fun of the thing. "Of course the Colonel and the other officers don't know anything about it. They never smell round through the camp." He laughed again. Thus the soldiers had their fun and their fresh provisions, notwithstanding the orders from headquarters. Few of the officers thought it worth while to inquire of the soldiers where they purchased their chickens, turkeys, and mutton. The next day was cold, raw, and snowy,--an unusual day in the Old Dominion. The forests were in russet and yellow, for the leaves had not fallen. Winter had ushered itself prematurely into the presence of retiring Autumn. The driving storm shut the Blue Ridge from sight. My horse had lost his shoes. I found a blacksmith-shop built of logs. While the smith was putting on the shoes, I sat upon the forge warming my feet. The wind was high, and swept through the forest with a wild, surging roar, and came into the shop through the cracks and crevices, drowning the roar of the bellows. The snow-flakes sifted through the crazy roof, which had lost nearly half its time-worn shingles. Let the reader sit by my side on an old box, and take a look at the blacksmith.