“Lord! Lord!” said Abe with an expression of deep weariness, but without looking in Kent's direction, “Who's pulled the string o' that clack-mill and set it going? When it gets started once it rolls out big words like punkins dropping out o' the tail of a wagon going up hill. And there's no way o' stopping it, either. You've just got to wiat till it runs down.” “The Proverbs say so fittingly that 'A fool delighteth not in wise instruction,'” said Kent, as he stepped around to the other side of the fire. His foot fell upon a projecting twig, the other end of which flew up and landed a very hot coal on the back of Abe's hand. Abe's action followed that of the twig, in teh suddenness of his upspringing. He hurled an oath and a firebrand at his comrade. “This is really becoming domestic,” said Kent as he laughingly dodged. “The gentle amenities could not cluster more thickly around our fireside, even if we were married.” When Abe resumed his seat he did not come down exactly upon the spot from which he had arisen. It was a little farther to the right, where he had stuck the needle. He had forgotten about it, but he rose with a howl when it keenly reminded him that like the star-spangled banner, it “was still there.” “Don't rise on my account, I beg,” said Kent with a deprecatory wave of the hand, as he hurried off to wher he could laugh with safety. A saucy drummer-boy, who neglected this precaution, received a cuff from Abe's heavy hand that thrilled the rest of the drum-corps with delight. When Abe's wrath subsided from this ebullient stage back to its customary one of simmer, Kent ventured to return. “Say,” said he, pulling over the coats and blankets near the fire, “where's the canteen?” “There it is by the cups. Can't you see it? If it was a snake it'd bite you.” “It's done that already, several times, or rather its contents have. You know what the Bible says, 'Biteth liek a serpent and stingeth like an adder?' Ah, here it is. But gloomy forebodings seize me: it is suspiciously light. Paradoxically, its lightness induces gravity in me. But that pun is entirely too fine-drawn for camp atmosphere.” He shook the canteen near his ear. “Alas! no gurgle responds to my fond caresses-- Canteen, Mavourneen, O, why art thou silent, Thou voice of my heart? It is--woe is me--it is empty.” “Of course it is--you were the last one at it.” “I hurl that foul imputation back into thy teeth base knave. Thou thyself art a very daughter of a horse-leech with a canteen of whisky.” Abe looked at him inquiringly. “You must've found some, some place,” he said, “or you wouldn't be so awful glib. It's taken 'bout half-a-pint to loosen your tongue so that it'd run this way. I know you.”