thinkin', lads," spoke Scotty. "The gen'ral's no mon to gie oop. I vote for a gude sleep, mysel', an' I sartainly peety them who hae their bivouac in the starm. Gude sakes, leesten to the pour doon!"
The rain had merged into a terrific storm of thunder and lightning and gusty wind that lashed the barn with giants' flails. Luckily the Fourth Regiment was snug within the dripping eaves; but what of the troops camped in the open, covered by only their blankets? They would be drenched! And what of the men on the battlefield? The wounded, and the weary!
While thinking and listening to the rain, and drowsily watching the smouldering campfires in the great barn, Jerry dozed off. He awakened to the sound of low voices. A group of non-commissioned officers was squatting near him, beside a fire, and talking guardedly among themselves—or seemed to be interested in a story. All through the barn the ranks were stretched under blankets upon the floor, snoring and gurgling. Jerry promptly rolled out and crept to the group. Sergeant Mulligan and Corporal Finerty were there from his company.
They stopped murmuring.
"Who's that?"
"Jerry Cameron, is all."
"Get back to bed. We want no young rascal of a drummer sittin' in with us."
"'Asy, now. He's not as bad as the rist of 'em," Sergeant Mulligan said. "He's all right; knows how to kape a still tongue in his head. Sure, I see him talkin' wid Left'nant Grant, betimes, an' niver a word did I get out of him. Let him stay."
