ell-remembered shake of the head, while there was a twinkle in his bright eye and the faintest smile played around the corners of his mouth.
Finally, Old Gabe—Gabriel Gray, another Baptist minister by the way—was called up, and in his amusingly peculiar and blunt way, he jerked out the following reply: I don't know, Major, unless it is because there is no telegraph line between this place and Staunton.
During the laugh that followed, Gray stood blushing, while Jackson, with his eyes fixed immovably upon him looked like a statue.
As soon as order was restored, to the great amazement and amusement of the whole class, Old Gabe not excepted, Jackson, with a stiff military salute and a much more perceptible smile on his face, replied: Yes, sir!
that is right; you can take your seat, Mr. Gray.
This, Old Jack's conundrum, was the talk of that happy, merry-hearted corps for years afterwards.
Little did we young rascals—embryo Southern soldiers—then dream that our plain, big-footed,