"I hope that in no sense I am the cause of it," said Scoville, earnestly.

66

“Oh, no,” replied Miss Lou, wiping her eyes hastily,

not directly. Pardon me, I forgot for the moment that you were here. My trouble is with my family, and you have nothing to do with it except as you Yankees are coming South and making trouble of every kind."

"Well, Miss Baron," said the scout, regarding her sympathetically through the open door, "it is too late to talk about our coming South. Isn't there something I can do for you, to show my gratitude and good-will?"

"De bes' ting you kin do, Marse Scoville, is ter shet dat do' an' kep still; den git back ter yo' folks soon ez you kin trabble. We uns got des ez much ez we kin stan' up un'er, en ef dey foun' you yere, hit ud be de worl' comin' ter smash."

"If Miss Baron would tell me her trouble, she might find that I am not so powerless to help as I seem. Since she has done so much for me, I have a certain kind of right to do what I can in return."

"You forget, sir, that we are strangers and aliens."

"No one is an alien to me from whom I am accepting life and safety," and his glance was so kind and friendly that, in her dire extremity, she was induced to ask a ques

tion.

"If you feel that you owe any thing to me," she said, hesitatingly, "tell me truly, if your people came to this plantation, would our home be burned and we all be in danger of insult and death?"

"Is that all you fear?" he asked, smiling.

"But answer me on your word and honor.”

"No, Miss Baron, not from our regular troops. There are vile wretches connected with all armies, on your side as

well as ours, who act without orders or any control except their lawless will. If you and your friends are tortured by the fear of Northern soldiers, should they come this way, you may set your mind comparatively at rest. I must add, however, that our troops have to live off the country, and so take food for man and beast. They also help themselves to better horses when they find them. I have told you the truth. Why, believe me, Miss Baron, I would defend you with my life against any one."

66

Oh, dear!" cried the girl, with another rush of tears, my uncle believes that our house will be burned and we all murdered, and they are going to marry me to my cousin against my will, so that he can take me to a place of safety." "When?" asked Scoville, excitedly.

"To-morrow evening."

Aun' Jinkey in her trepidation had stepped to the door, and there, sure enough, was Mrs. Baron coming down the path with her hand full of crumpled muslins. She had appeared so silently and suddenly before Chunk that he had started and stared at her. When he tried to edge off towards the cabin, she had said sharply, " Keep at your work. What is the matter with you? I reckon your granny is smoking instead of doing my work," and she hastened her steps to surprise the supposed delinquent.

Entering the cabin, she saw only Aun' Jinkey ironing, and her niece sitting with her handkerchief to her face. "Ah!" said the old lady to her laundress, "I'm glad you realize the importance of doing my work when it's needed." Then followed a few brief directions in regard to the articles she had brought. Louise, I wish you to come with me. This is no place for you," concluded Mrs. Baron, turning to depart.

The girl rose and followed submissively, for she was overwhelmed by a confused sense of danger, not merely to the

Union soldier, but also to her old mammy who was sheltering him. The extremity of her fears and the fact that Chunk had not come to warn them led her to dread that her aunt's suspicions were already aroused. Chunk gave her a very anxious look as she passed, but she only shook her head slightly, as much as to say, "I don't know."

The negro's elation and confidence now passed utterly; he became deeply alarmed, not only for the scout, but for himself and grandmother as well. He was not long in coming to a decision. Whately and his troopers were absent, and now, perhaps, was the best time to act. After satisfying himself that he was not observed, he slipped away to the cabin.

When Mrs. Baron finally disappeared, Aun' Jinkey sunk into a chair almost in a state of collapse. "O good Lawd!" she gasped, "I des tremblin' so in my knee-jints I kyant stan'."

"Courage, Aunt Jinkey," said Scoville, through the chink in the floor. "Try to get Chunk here as soon as possible." "I des done beat. I kyant lif my han' no mo'."

"Granny," said Chunk, sauntering in, "you des watch at de do'," and without waiting for a word he went up the ladder, lifted the door and closed it.

"Ah, Chunk, I wanted you badly," said Scoville. "Do you think it possible for me to get away at once?"

"Dat des w'at I come ter see 'bout, mars'r, en I'se gwine wid you. Marse Whately and he men all done gone till eb'nin'."

"Well, there's no need of further words. See what you can do about getting horses and a good start. I will explain on the way. Hoot like an owl when the coast is clear and you are ready."

A few moments later Chunk emerged from the cabin, with careless mien, eating a pone of hoecake.

"Go back to yer work," shouted Perkins, who was passing in the distance.

This Chunk did, his eyes following the overseer until the hated form was lost to sight in a distant field where a squad of hands were at work. Perkins was simply trying to be ubiquitous that day. Chunk's next step was to steal to the rear of the stables. To his delight he found that Whately had left his horse in order that it might rest for further hard service, and had borrowed one of his uncle's animals for the afternoon ride. As Chunk was stealthily putting on a bridle, a gruff voice asked, "What yer doin' thar?"

The negro's heart stood still. Turning quickly, he saw, to his dismay, one of the Confederate soldiers lying on a pile of straw. A closer scrutiny revealed that the man was drowsy from partial intoxication, and Chunk, feeling that he was in for it now, said boldly: "Marse Whately tole me at dinner ter tek his hoss ter de run fer a drink en ter limber his jints 'bout dis time in de eb'nin'."

"Very well; bring 'im back safe en sud'n or I'll make you a head shorter'n you air."

"Ob co'se, mars'r, I do ez I tol'. I des ride ole bay down, too. Mout ez well took 'im ter water de same time."

The soldier making no response Chunk slipped away with the horses, trembling as if in an ague fit. Nothing was left for him now but to get away and take his chances. Fortune in this instance, as it often does, favored the bolder course. The Confederate soldier was familiar with Chunk, since he had been the waiter at the troopers' mess; moreover his faculties were confused and blunted and he was soon asleep again. Perkins' back was turned and every one at the mansion deeply preoccupied. Even Zany, who had been charged not to leave the dining-room, was not on the watch.

Chunk hastened the horses down the lane towards the run, which having reached, he looked cautiously around, then

hooted in fairly successful imitation of the ominous bird of night. Aun' Jinkey dropped into her chair again with an ejaculation of terror.

"Look out of the door and tell me if you see any one,"

said Scoville, quickly.

Mechanically she obeyed, saying, "No, mars'r, but dat squinch-owl des shook me like a ghos'."

Before she knew it he was beside her, his eyes shining with excitement. "There," he said, putting into the hand he pressed a ten-dollar bill, "I'll see you again, and you won't be sorry. Good-by," and with a swift glance around he strode away towards the run. A moment or two later he was mounted on the bare back of Mad Whately's horse, following Chunk down the stream so that the flowing water might obliterate the hoof-prints. They soon left the water and put their horses to a gallop towards the forest, within whose shades they disappeared. Both had deemed best not to tell Aun' Jinkey of their departure, so that she might honestly plead ignorance.

With the unerring instinct of a scout the soldier led the way hour after hour towards the point where he expected to find the Union cavalry force. On the way he and Chunk compared notes, and thus Scoville more truly understood Miss Lou's position. "We must be back to-morrow afternoon," he said, “in time to prevent this marriage. So, Chunk, be careful. You must not get sleepy or let your horse stumble."

Leaving them to pursue their way to the northwest, we can return to the Oaks. Miss Lou followed her aunt into the house, burdened for the moment with a new and pressing anxiety. Did the resolute old lady suspect that one of the class which she most detested had been concealed within earshot of her voice, and would a search be instituted? The girl's sympathies had gone out to the stranger, and the