Nobody heeded him. As for Frank, with triumph in his heart and money in his fist, he ran barefoot to where Seth Tucket lay sprawled before the blazing rails, feeling of his stockings, to see if they were dry enough to put on. "Hello, young chap! how goes it? 'Stranger what dost thou require? Rest, and a guide, and food and fire.' Get down here and have a toasting. It comes cheap." Frank sat down, and began counting the money. "What's all that?" demanded Seth. "All I owe you, and a little to spare!" cried Frank, elated. "Sho, ye don't say! See here, Frank! I never meant you should trouble yourself about that. I'm all right, money or no money. I'm an independent sort of nabob--don't need the vile stuff. 'Kings may be great, but Seth is glorious, o'er all the ills of life victorious!' So put it away, and keep it, Frank." But when the drummer boy told him how he had come by the money, and that it was his wish to settle his accounts before the battle, Tucket screwed up his face with a resigned expression, and received back the loan. A great weight was now lifted from Frank's mind. The vexing problem, how he was to retain the watch and yet satisfy Seth's rightful claims, was thus happily solved. He could have danced for joy, barefooted, in the grassy sand. And he yearned more than ever now to see Mr. Sinjin, and make up with him. A few rods off, in the rear of the soldiers' bivouacs, the old drummer could be seen, sitting with a group of officers around a fire of their own. His stockings were hung upon the end of a rail, and he was busy roasting a piece of pork on the end of a stick, held out at arm's length to the fire. Frank saw that it was no time to speak with him then; so he returned to his place, and sat down to put on his shoes and join those who had not yet been to supper, over their rations. XXV. ATWATER. As the evening wore on, Atwater was observed sitting apart from the rest, unusually silent and grave even for him; gazing at the fire, with the book he had been reading closed and folded thoughtfully between his hands. Now Frank, following his example, had lately formed the resolution to read a little in the Testament every night,--"if only for his mother's sake." But to-night his Testament was in his knapsack, and his knapsack was on board the schooner. "I'll borrow Atwater's," he thought; and with this purpose he approached the tall private. "Sit down here, Frank," said Atwater, with a serious smile. "I want to talk with you." It was so extraordinary for the phlegmatic Abe to express a wish to talk with any body, that Frank almost felt awed by the summons. Something within him said that a communication of no trivial import was coming. So he sat down. And the tongue of the taciturn was that night, for once in his life, strangely loosened. "I can't say it to the rest, Frank; I don't know why. But I feel as if I could say it to you."