The rest of his face was concealed by a heavy, dark beard.
"General Jackson, I believe," said the officer, saluting.
"Yes.

How far have those men marched ?" The voice was kindly and approving.
"We've come twenty-six miles, sir." "Good.

And I see no stragglers." "We allow no stragglers." "Better still.

I haven't been able to keep my own men from straggling, and you'll have to teach them." At that moment the Acadian band began to play, and it played the merriest waltz it knew.

Jackson gazed at it, took a lemon from his pocket and began to suck the juice from it meditatively.