Zeke Watkins and the apparent backwardness of Jarvis.  Actual service had changed his views very decidedly.  When Zeb appeared he had watched the course of this bashful suitor with interest which had rapidly ripened into warm but undemonstrative goodwill.  The young fellow had taken pains to relieve the older man, had carried his tools for him, and more than once with his strong hands had almost rubbed the rheumatism out of the indomitable cobbler’s leg.  He had received but slight thanks, and had acted as if he didn’t care for any.  Stokes was not a man to return favors in words; be brooded over his gratitude as if it were a grudge.  “I’ll get even with that young Jarvis yet,” he muttered, as he nursed his leg over the fire.  “I know he worships the ground that little Rolliffe girl treads on, though she don’t tread on much at a time.  She never trod on me nuther, though I’ve had her foot in my hand more’n once.  She looked at the man that made her shoes as if she would like to make him happier.  When a little tot, she used to say I could come and live with her when I got too old to take care of myself.  Lame as I be, I’d walk to Opinquake to give her a hint in her choosin’.  Guess Hi Woodbridge is right, and she wouldn’t be long in making up her mind betwixt a soger and a cook—­a mighty poor one at that.  Somehow or nuther I must let her know before Zeke Watkins sneaks home and parades around as a soldier ’bove ditch-digging.  I’ve taken his measure.

“He’ll be putting on veteran airs, telling big stories of what he’s going to do when soldiers are wanted, and drilling such fools as believe in him.  Young gals are often taken by such strutters, and think that men like Jarvis, who darsn’t speak for themselves, are of no account.  But I’ll put a spoke in Zeke’s wheel, if I have to get the captain to write.”

It thus may be gathered that the cobbler had much to say to himself when alone, though so taciturn to others.

The clouds along the eastern horizon were stained with red before the reconnoitring party returned.  Stokes had managed, by hobbling about, to keep up the fire and to fill the mess-kettle with the inevitable pork and beans.  The hungry, weary men therefore gave their new cook a cheer when they saw the good fire and provision awaiting them.  A moment later, however, Jarvis observed how lame Stokes had become; he took the cobbler by the shoulder and sat him down in the warmest nook, saying, “I’ll be assistant cook until you are better.  As Zeke says, I’m a wolf sure enough; but as soon’s the beast’s hunger is satisfied, I’ll rub that leg of yours till you’ll want to dance a jig;” and with the ladle wrung from Stokes’s reluctant hand, he began stirring the seething contents of the kettle.

Then little Hi Woodbridge piped in his shrill voice, “Another cheer for our assistant cook and ditch-digger!  I say, Zeke, wouldn’t you like to tell Ezra that Zeb has showed himself fit for something more than digging?  You expressed your opinion very plain last night, and may have a different one now.”