Late in the afternoon there was much visiting along the lines and between distant camps; the day was cloudless and perfect; magnolia and china-berry scented the winds which furrowed every grassy hillside; flags fluttered, breezy gusts of bugle music incited the birds to rivalry.  Peace and sunshine lay over all, and there was nothing sinister to offend save, far along the horizon, the low, unbroken monotone of cannon, never louder, never lower, steady, dull, interminable; and on the southern horizon a single tall cloud, slanting a trifle to the east, like a silver pillar out of plumb.

Berkley’s attention was directed to it by a suspicious comrade; they both gazed at it curiously, listening to the low mutter of the cannonade; then Berkley frowned, folded both gauntlets, placed them in his belt, passed his hand over his freshly shaven chin, and, pocketing his cob pipe, sauntered forth to visit and gossip with those he knew in other camps.

“Hello, Burgess,” he said humorously; “how are you making out?”

His late valet’s arm twitched instinctively toward the salute he dared not offer; he glanced stealthily right and left before answering: 

“I am doing very well, sir, thank you.”

“I told you to cut out the ‘sir,’ didn’t I?”

“Yes, sir—­beg pardon——­”

Berkley eyed him.  “You’ve got your chance,” he said.  “Your rank and mine are equal.  Do you take pleasure in continually reminding yourself of your recent position of servitude?”

“Sir?—­beg pardon——­”

“Can’t you help it?  Is it born in you?”

Burgess stood silent, considering, then he lifted his ugly face and looked hard at Berkley.

“I am not ashamed of having served you.  I am more comfortable under orders. . . .  I liked to dress you up . . .  I wish to God it was that way now.”

“Don’t you want your independence?”

“My independence,” repeated Burgess, “I had it—­more of it when I was looking out for you, sir, than I have now in this damn regiment——­”

“Well, what did you enlist for?”

“You’ve asked me that many times, sir, and I don’t know. . . .  I’d rather be around, handy like——­”

“You’ll get killed some day, don’t you know it?”

“No, sir.  I guess you’ll look out for me.  You always did.”

“How the devil can I prevent one of those big shells from knocking you off your horse!”

Burgess, patient, undisturbed, let the, question go with a slight smile.

“What a jackass you are!” said Berkley irritably; “here’s a dollar to get some pie.  And if you can cheat that cursed sutler, do it!”

He himself purchased two big pies from the sutler after an angry haggle in which he was easily worsted; and he munched away contentedly as he walked toward the lines of the 3rd Zouaves, his spurs and sabre jingling, Burgess following respectfully at heel.

“Hello, Steve!” he called out to a sun-burnt young zouave who was drying his freshly washed turban in the hill breeze.  “I always heard you fellows wore infant’s underclothes, but I never believed it before!”