At these words Gregory Boksa seized the colonel's hand and kissed it. "Ah, sir," he cried, "may the saints bless you! You shall find me a faithful servant, who will go through fire and water to serve you. I'll soon show you what an artist I am in my calling." Being introduced to the corporal in charge, Boksa offered, with the zeal of one newly entering upon a responsible position, to take up his quarters for the night among his oxen, with his good horse at his side. Surely, when one is hired to discharge certain duties he must discharge them to the best of his ability. He had a good thick cloak to wrap himself in, and, besides, he could smoke if he chose, out there in the open air,--a solace that would be denied him if he passed the night in the stable. Accordingly the zealous ox-herd was given permission to lie down with his oxen if he wished. Gregory Boksa first ascertained the direction of the wind, that he might choose his position with the herd to leeward; and after rehearsing his grievances once more to the adjutant and the corporal and as many others as would listen to him, he wrapped himself in his mantle and bade them all good night. They laughed heartily at the poor man, even while they gave him their assurances of sympathy; but they did not forget to keep a watchful eye on his movements through it all. His actions, however, were not of the sort to arouse suspicion. First he drew out his pipe and opened his tobacco-pouch; then he removed his hat. Perhaps he was wont to pray before going to sleep; and very likely, too, he found it easier to go to sleep with his pipe in his mouth. After filling and lighting that trusty companion of his meditations, he lay down on his stomach--he had good and sufficient reasons for not lying on his back--and puffed away in apparent content. Then, to pass away the time, he took his knife and began to scrape off the accumulated dirt and grease from the edge of his felt hat, gathering the scrapings together in the palm of his hand. The hat was old and dilapidated; it had weathered many a storm, was full of holes, and was so stained with sweat and dust and rain that its original colour had become a matter of pure conjecture. Unquestionably it stood in sad need of the cleaning which its owner now undertook to perform.