At the hill’s foot he meets his comrades, and, further down, more Johns and Jims and Sams and Bills, and then the fun begins. On the village Green things begin to take on a warlike aspect and the boys catch on to every movement and miss nothing; while the girls--pshaw! they ain’t in it to-day--keep in yards or on church steps. The darkey boys, as happy as any, begin to bring on the warlike steeds, which are praised or jeered as appearances demand. Presently there is a drum-beat on the big bass drum, and every boy scampers for the band, which consists of a fifer, a snare-drummer, and Charles Ford to beat the big bass drum. And he just could beat it like Sam Hill! I tell you, if the Britishers could have heard those fellows play, they would have got right off from Bunker Hill, you bet! Sure! they all admit. Now, at the upper part of “The Green,” a soldier in uniform appears, and soon another. It’s nine o’clock, and the first parade begins at ten. Soon they come in, in squads, until “The Green” seems to be covered with the mounts, after which the soldiers dismount and take things easy. Our boys are in and out amongst the horses, scooting, howling, criticising, or jeering, when an officer rides up and gives an order. This means business, and the small boy “gits,” nor does he “stand upon the order of his going, but goes at once,” and the soldiers hold the field. This is only preliminary work, however, a shaking down of the files preparatory to the reception of the Colonel and his staff in the afternoon. This over, the troops are off duty. The soldiers take their ease as they please, some on “The Green,” but more over at the tavern, where the boys flock in amongst them, until the “barkeep” shouts to them, “Get out; there’s too many of you!” It’s lunch time, too, for the boys, who begin to mass around Aunty Thatcher’s gingerbread stand feeling about their jackets for the small coin. Whether they have any or not--it’s all the same. The boys are democratic and divide, paying just like grown-ups for what they buy with the coin of the realm. No line drawn to-day between the boy with money and the boy without, nor is the color line apparent. This cuts no ice with our boys. Here’s Dandy Lazarus, Fred Wilson (afterward sold into slavery), Joe Bassett, and Phil Jacklin. Black or white, the boys never think, or care; so long as the fippenny bits last, no boy goes hungry.