The Sergeant went through the storekeeper's pockets with a deftness that bespoke experience. He produced a small amount of money, some of it in fractional currency and Confederate notes, a number{227} of papers, a plug of tobacco, and some other articles. He handed these to the Captain, who hastily looked over them, handed back the tobacco and other things and the small change. "Give these back to him," he said briefly. "Turn the rest of the money over to the hospital fund. Where's our barber? Shave his head, call up the fifers and drummers, and drum him out of camp at once. I haven't time to waste on him." Before he had done speaking the guards had the storekeeper seated on a log, and were shearing his hair. "General," shouted the Deacon. "That's a Cap'n, you fool," said one of the guards. "Captain, then," yelled the Deacon. "Who is that man?" said the Captain severely. "He's his partner," said the Lieutenant. "Serve him the same way," said the Captain shortly, turning to go. The Deacon's knees smote together. He, a Deacon of the Baptist Church, and a man of stainless repute at home, to have his head shaved and drummed out of camp. He would rather die at once. The guards had laid hands on him. "Captain," he yelled again, "it's all a horrible mistake. I had nothin' to do with this man." "Talk to the Lieutenant, there," said the Captain, moving off. "He will attend to you." The Lieutenant was attentively watching the barbering operation. "Cut it close closer yet," he admonished the barber. "Lieutenant! Lieutenant!" pleaded the Deacon, awkwardly saluting. "Stand back; I'll attend to you next," said the{228} Lieutenant impatiently. "Now, tie his hands behind him." The Lieutenant turned toward the Deacon, and the barber picked up his shears and made a step in that direction. Just in the extremity of his danger the Deacon caught sight of the Captain of Co. Q walking toward Headquarters. "Capt. McGillicuddy! Capt. McGillicuddy! come here at once! Come quick!" he called in a voice which had been trained to long-distance work on the Wabash bottoms. Capt. McGillicuddy looked up, recognized the waving of the Deacon's bandanna, and hastened thither. Fortunately he knew the Provost officers; there were explanations all around, and profuse apologies, and just as the fifes and drums struck up the "Rogue's March" behind the luckless storekeeper, who had to step off in front of a line of leveled bayonets, the Deacon walked away arm-in-arm with the Captain. "I'm not goin' to let go o' you till I'm safe back in our own place," he said. "My gracious! think of havin' my head shaved and marched off the way that feller's bein'." He walked into the cabin and stirred up the beans. "The water's biled off," said he to himself, "but they hain't been in nigh as hot a place as I have. I guess the boys'll have to do with a plain dinner to day. I'm not goin' to stir out o' this place agin unless they're with me."