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Chapter 8

           Thesoldiertheycalled“Jackdaw,”athinlittlefellowwithasharpnose,roseobedientlyandwasabouttogobutatthatinstanttherecameintothelightofthefiretheslender,handsomefigureofayoungsoldiercarryingaloadofwood.

           “Bringithere—that’sfine!”

           Theysplitupthewood,presseditdownonthefire,blewatitwiththeirmouths,andfanneditwiththeskirtsoftheirgreatcoats,makingtheflameshissandcrackle.Themendrewnearerandlittheirpipes.Thehandsomeyoungsoldierwhohadbroughtthewood,settinghisarmsakimbo,beganstampinghiscoldfeetrapidlyanddeftlyonthespotwherehestood.

           “Mother!Thedewiscoldbutclear....It’swellthatI’mamusketeer...”hesang,pretendingtohiccoughaftereachsyllable.

           “Lookout,yoursoleswillflyoff!”shoutedthered-hairedman,noticingthatthesoleofthedancer’sbootwashangingloose.“Whatafellowyouarefordancing!”

           Thedancerstopped,pulledofftheloosepieceofleather,andthrewitonthefire.

           “Rightenough,friend,”saidhe,and,havingsatdown,tookoutofhisknapsackascrapofblueFrenchcloth,andwrappeditroundhisfoot.“It’sthesteamthatspoilsthem,”headded,stretchingouthisfeettowardthefire.

           “They’llsoonbeissuingusnewones.Theysaythatwhenwe’vefinishedhammeringthem,we’retoreceivedoublekits!”

           “AndthatsonofabitchPetróvhaslaggedbehindafterall,itseems,”saidonesergeantmajor.

           “I’vehadaneyeonhimthislongwhile,”saidtheother.

           “Well,he’sapoorsortofsoldier....

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