glistened, every one in its place, and whose sleeves were decorated with the chevrons of a first sergeant. "Let go that ear," he said, in quiet tone, and jeer and laughter ceased. "Who ordered this?" he asked. "The lieutenant, sir," answered Shorty's conductor, obeying instantly, and speaking with a deference much exceeding that which he had shown to the suckling subaltern commanding the guard. "Who did you say you were?" asked the veteran regular, professionally grave, his steely blue eyes seeming to penetrate beneath the mud with which Shorty's face and dress were smeared. "Mounted orderly at brigade head-quarters, Chain Bridge," came Shorty's quick answer, as he stifled his rising sobs. "Ordered to get my despatches to General McClellan and stop for nothing. The river's washed away the pontoons----" "Where is the despatch? Let go that collar, Sergeant Hanley," and Shorty stood released. "Stolen from me by these----" And Shorty gulps. Even now he knows it won't do to call names. "I told them my orders. I begged them, and the officer of the guard, to let me----" "What did you do with them?" interrupted the sergeant, glowering at Hanley. "Sure I don't know, sergeant. The lootenent ordered him into the cells. He was sassin' everybody." "I never said a wrong word to the lieutenant," burst in Shorty, indignant that he should be accused of disrespectful language to an officer, no matter how much contempt he might feel for the individual. "What became of the despatch, I say?" demanded the first sergeant, frowning around upon the now silent circle. "Corcoran took it, sir," ventured a young soldier, presently. "Go you and fetch Corcoran," were the sergeant's instant orders to Hanley, and the big Irishman lunged away. Here was a power indeed! the majesty of the discipline of the old army as exemplified in the first sergeant of thirty years' service. "Bring that bench, and water, soap, and towel," was the next order, short and crisp, and two young recruits jumped to obey. In a minute the bench, with a tin basin, a bucket with fresh water, and towel and soap were placed before the bedraggled lad. "Wash," said the sergeant, and Shorty pulled off his jacket and flannel shirt and tossed them, with his natty cap, to the pavement. "Pick those up and clean 'em," said the sergeant, and a soldier whipped them off the flags, while the lad buried his hot face in the brimming bowl. It cooled and steadied him and gave him time to think,--time to recover breath and wits and self-control. Corporal Corcoran was marched in by Hanley, looking queer. The tall sergeant gazed about at the circle of listening private soldiers. Non-commissioned officers, said the regulations, must never be rebuked in presence of the men. It weakens their authority. "Get you out of this, all of you!" was his order, and they stood not on the order of their going, but were gone in less time than it takes to tell it. "Where's the papers you took from this--young man?"