A CAMP SUNDAY 



Sunday the twenty -stt)entK 

 Noting the cloudy, stormy sky, a feel of rain in the air, 

 and a struggling sun in the east, the artist, before the messtent 

 door, quoted: 



"As breaks the sun through overmastering clouds 

 So honor peereth in the meanest habit. 

 What, is the adder better than the eel 

 Because his painted skin contents the eye? 

 Or is the jay more precious than the lark 

 Because his feathers are more beautiful?" 



"Gee" commented Art, rolling his ante-breakfast cigarette 

 near by. "You've got something like that for most every oc- 

 casion, haven't you?" 



"Merely a habit of memory" he was assured. "Had it 

 from my dad. The governor was an inveterate quoter, and I 

 believe made a perfect nuisance of himself sometimes." 



This day was William's birthday, and however the knowledge 

 of it got abroad in the valley, shortly after breakfast arrived 

 the local schoolmistress, fair, curly-haired, spectacled as befitted 

 her official dignity, young and altogether good to look upon, 

 in a divided skirt astride of a dark roan. A scholar on a light 

 bay pony was her attendant squire, bearing a three-layer birth- 

 day cake, a friendly tribute to William's excellence of social 

 quality from the Mistress Kerzenmacher, before-mentioned in 

 the record. A cake "as was a cake," it signalized the natal day 

 of the camp colonel and graced the board at dinner this evening. 

 In addition to the gastronomic tribute to the colonel's popu- 

 larity, the giftbearer brought sundry letters from home, the 

 major part for the honor of William's natality. These, added 

 to sundry packages and letters entrusted to the artist for de- 

 livery on this day, and arranged at William's place at breakfast, 

 gave affairs in the messtent a busily festive appearance. 



The artist ventured that it looked like a good day. 



"For what?" inquired William. 



"Duck." 



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