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Updated: June 19, 2025
Presently he entered, his sleeves rolled to the elbow over his brawny arms, and his shirt and pantaloons covered with the spanish-needles and burrs which would grow, even in so well-tilled fields as Deacon Klegg's. "What's the matter, mother? What's the matter, girls?" he asked anxiously. Mrs. Klegg could only look at him in speechless misery.
Klegg's turn to receive a shock when she rushed out to greet her son, and found Annabel by his side. It went deeper to her heart than it had to Maria's; but, then, she had more philosophy, and had foreseen it longer.
If the truth must be told, the first blood that stained Si's bayonet was not that of a fellow-man. Si Klegg's company was on picket one day, while Gen. Buell was trying to make up his mind what to do with Bragg. Rations had been a little short for a week or so. In fact, they had been scarcely sufficient to meet the demands of Si's appetite, and his haversack had nothing in it to speak of.
He turned around and glared at the soldier by his side. "If it warn't for startin' another fight," he said to himself, "I'd punch his infernal head." But the soldier had gone to sleep; he lolled his head over in Mr. Klegg's lap and snored loudly. For two or three hours afterward the train rattled along without particular incident. Mr.
If I kin only hold the souls in them boys' bodies till I kin git 'em back to Bean Blossom Crick, I'll trust Mother Klegg's nursin' to do the rest. If there ever was a woman who could stand off the Destroyin' Angel by good nursin' that woman's Mother Klegg, bless her soul."
We'll keep pluggin' along afoot, on guard or anywhere else, same's we have all the time." Thus rudely was shattered another of Si Klegg's bright illusions. The whole regiment turned out to witness the ceremony of guard-mounting. It was the first time the exigencies of the campaign had permitted the 200th Ind. to do this in regular style.
Take your pies and dig out. Don't attempt to sell any o' them pies to these boys, or I'll hang you myself, and there won't be no foolishness about it. Git back to your car, boys." "There won't be no hangin', and we won't git none o' the pies," complained the boys among themselves. "Sargint Klegg's gittin' overbearin'. What'd he interfere for?
I'll stay away from Chattanoogy till after the Grand Jury meets down there. If it does its dooty there'll be several bills with Josiah Klegg's name entirely too conspicuous." "I want to be able to git out to the next covenant meetin', Pap," said Si with a grin, "and hear you confess to the brethren and sisters all that you've bin up to down at Chattanoogy."
Klegg's, and caught his little finger in a peculiar way. Deacon Klegg had been initiated into the Odd Fellows, and he dimly recognized this as a "grip," but he could not associate it for the moment with any of the degrees of the brotherhood of the Three Links. "Were you out late last night," said the stranger in a low, deeply-impressive tone.
His mother's cupboard was never known to be in the condition of Old Mother Hubbard's, described in the nursery rhyme. The Kleggs might not have much tapestry and bric-a-brac in their home, but their smoke-house was always full, and Mrs. Klegg's kitchen could have fed a camp-meeting any time without warning.
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