' til: - - " •■'"-' BY THOMAS NELSQl SGI r*- ', ? \£ m iff dBf t?»::"W ■ $ "NANCY PANSY." 79 walking around the table, holding the table-cloth in his hand, to show how the little rebel had done. He vowed he would get even with her. As the days went on, the Baby Veterans and Middleburgh came no nearer being acquainted than they were that morn- ing. The Baby Veterans still drilled, and paraded, and set pickets all around the town ; Middleburgh and Nancy Pansy still picked up their skirts and passed by with uplifted heads and defiant eyes. The Baby Veterans shouted on the Court- house Square, " Yankee Doodle " and the " Star-spangled Banner;" Middleburgh sang on its verandas and in its par- lors, " Dixie " and the " Bonnie Blue Flag." Perhaps, some evenings Middleburgh may have stopped its own singing, and have stolen out on its balconies to listen to the rich chorus which came up from the Court-house Grove, bat if so, the Baby Veterans never knew it ; or perhaps, the Baby Veterans some evenings may have strolled along the shadowed streets, or stretched themselves out on the grass to listen to the sweet voices which floated down from the embowered veran- das in the Judge's yard ; if so, Middleburgh never guessed it. Nancy Pansy used to sing sweetly, and she would often sing whilst her sister played for her. The strict regulations established by the soldiers pre- vented any letters from going or coming unopened, and Middleburgh never would tolerate that. So the only mail which passed through the office was that which the Baby Veterans received or sent. As stated, Nancy Pansy's 8o "NANCY PANSY." mother, by the old doctor's advice and for reasons good to her and her friends, still kept the post-office, under a sort of surveillance, yet the intercourse with the soldiers was strictly official ; the letters were received or were deliv- ered by the postmistress in silence, or if the Baby Veterans asked a question it was generally replied to by a haughty bow, or an ungracious " No." One mail day Mrs. Seddon was ill, so Nancy Pansy's sis- ter Ellen had to go to open the mail, and Nancy Pansy went with her, taking Harry along, " to take care of them." It happened that Tom Adams and a friend came in to ask for their letters. Nancy Pansy's sister was standing at the table arranging the mail, and Nancy Pansy was sitting up on the table by her, holding the battered but cherished Harry in her lap. The young officer stiffened up as he saw who was before him. " Are there any letters for Lieutenant Adams ?" he asked, in a very formal and stately manner. There was no reply or motion to show that he had been heard, except that Nancy Pansy's sister began to go over the letters again from the beginning of the A's. Suddenly Nancy Pansy, who was watching her, saw one, and exclaiming, " Oh! there's one ! " seized it, and slipped down from the table to give it to its owner, proud to show that she could read writ- ing. Before she had reached the window, however, her sis- ter caught her quickly, and taking the letter from her, slowly advanced and handed it to the youncj soldier; then turnine NANCY PANSY." quietly away, she took out her handkerchief and wiped her hand very hard where it had touched the letter, as if it had been soiled. The young officer strode out of the door with a red face and an angry step, and that evening the story of the way the little rebel wiped her hands after touching Tom Adams's letter was all over camp. IV. AFTER this it was pretty well understood that the Baby Veterans and Middleburgh were at war. The regu- lations were more strictly enforced than ever before, and for a while it looked as if it was opting t De as bad as it o o was when the other regiment was there. Old Limpid, the old doctor's man, was caught one night with some letters on his person, several of them addressed to " Captain Harry Hunter, Army of Northern Virginia," etc., and was some- what severely dealt with, though, perhaps fortunately for him and his master, the letters, one of which was in a feminine hand, whilst abusive of the soldiers, did not contain any in- formation which justified very severe measures, and after a warning he was set free again. Nancy Pansy's sister Ellen was enraged next day to re- ceive again her letter from a corporal's guard, indorsed with an official stamp, " Returned by order," etc. She actually cried about it. Nancy Pansy had written a letter to Harry, too — not her own Harry, but the old doctor's — and hers came back also ; but she did not cry about it, for she had forgotten to tell Harry that she had a kitten. " NANCY PANSY." 83 Still it was very bad ; for after that even the old doctor was once more subjected to the strict regulations which had existed before the Baby Veterans came, and he could no longer drive in and out at will, as he and Nancy Pansy had been doing since the regiment arrived. It was not, however, long after this that Nancy Pansy had quite an adventure. She and Harry had been with the old doctor, and the old doctor had to go and see some children with the measles, so, as Harry had never had measles, he sent her and Nancy Pansy back; but Nancy Pansy had found an old cigar-box, which was a treasure, and would have made a splendid cradle for Harry, except that it was so short that when Harry's legs were put into it, her head and shoulders stuck up, and when her body was in it, her legs hung out. Still, if it would not do for a cradle, she had got a piece of string, and it would do for a carriage. So she was com- ing home very cheerfully, thinking of the way Harry would enjoy her ride down the walk. It was just at this time that Tom Adams, feeling thor- oughly bored with his surroundings, left camp and sauntered up the street alone, planning how he could get his company ordered once more to the front. He could not stand this life any longer. As he strolled along the walk the sound of the cheerful voices of girls behind the magnolias and rose bowers came to him, and a wave of homesickness swept over him as he thought of his sisters and little nieces away up North. 84 "NANCY PANSY. 1 ' Suddenly, as he turned a corner, he saw a small figure walking slowly along before him ; the great straw hat on the back of her head almost concealed the little body, but her sunny hair was peeping down below the broad brim, and Adams knew the child. She carried under her arm an old cigar-box, out of one end of which peeped the head and shoulders of an old doll, the feet of which stuck out of the other end. A string hung from the box, and trailed behind her on the pathway. She appeared to be very busy about something, and to be per- fectly happy, for as she walked along she was singing out of her content a wordless little song of her heart, " Tra-la-la, tra-la-la." The young officer fell into the same gait with the child, and instinctively trod softly to keep from disturbing her. Just then, however, a burly fellow named Griff O'Meara, who had belonged to one of the companies which preceded them, and had been transferred to Adams's company, came down a side street, and turned into the walkway just behind the little maid. He seemed to be tipsy. The trailing string caught his eye, and he tipped forward and tried to step on it. Adams did not take in what the fellow was trying to do until he attempted it the second time. Then he called to him, but it was too late ; he had stepped on the cord, and jerked the box, doll and all, from the child's arm. The doll fell, face down, on a stone and broke to pieces. The man gave a great laugh, as the little girl turned, with a cry of anguish, NANCY PANSY." 85 and stooping, began to pick up the fragments, weeping in a low, pitiful way. In a second Adams sprang forward, and struck the fellow a blow between the eyes which sent him staggering off the sidewalk, down in the road, flat on his back. He rose with an oath, but Adams struck him a second blow which laid him out again, and the fellow, find- ing him to be an officer, was glad to slink off. Adams then turned to the child, whose tears, which had dried for a moment in her alarm at the fight, now began to flow again over her doll. " Her pretty head's all broke ! Oh — oh — oh ! " she sobbed, trying vainly to get the pieces to fit into something like a face. The young officer sat down on the ground by her. " Never mind, sissy," he said, soothingly, " let me see if I can help you." She confidingly handed him the fragments, whilst she tried to stifle her sobs, and wiped her eyes with her little pinafore. "Can you do it?" she asked, dolefully, behind her pina- fore. " I hope so. What's your name ?" " Nancy Pansy, and my dolly's named Harry." " Harry ! " Tom looked at the doll's dress and the frag- ments of face, which certainly were not masculine. "Yes, Harry Hunter. He's my sweetheart," she looked at him to see that he understood her. 86 "NANCY PANSY." "Ah!" " And sister's," she nodded, confidently. "Yes, I see. Where is he?" " He's a captain now. He's gone away — away." She waved her hand in a wide sweep to give an idea of the great distance it was. " He's in the army." "Come along with me," said Tom; "let's see what we can do." He gathered up all the broken pieces in his hand- kerchief, and set out in the direction from which he had come, Nancy Pansy at his side. She slipped her little hand confidingly into his. "You knocked that bad man down for me, didn't you?" she said, looking up into his face. Tom had not felt until then what a hero he had been. " Yes," he said, quite graciously. The little warm fingers worked themselves yet further into his palm. At the corner they turned up the street toward the Court- house Square, and in a few minutes were in camp. At the sight of the child with Adams the whole camp turned out pell-mell, as if the " long-roll " had beat. At first Nancy Pansy was a little shy, there was so much excitement, and she clung tightly to Tom Adams's hand. She soon found, however, that they were all friendly. Tom conducted her to his tent, where she was placed in a great chair, with a horse-cover over it, as a sort of throne. The story of O'Meara's act excited so much indignation that Tom felt it necessary to explain fully the punishment he had given him. ■NANCY PANSY." S7 Nancy Pansy, feeling that she had an interest in the matter, suddenly took up the narrative. " Yes, he jus' knocked him down," she said, with the most charming confidence, to her admiring audience, her pink cheeks glowing and her great eyes lighting up at the recital, as she illustrated Tom's act with a most expressive gesture of her by no means clean little fist. The soldiers about her burst into a roar of delighted laughter, and made her tell them again and again how it was done, each time renewing their applause over the 'cute way in which she imitated Tom's act. Then they all insisted on being formally introduced, so Nancy Pansy was stood upon the table, and the men came by in line, one by one, and were presented to her. It was a regular levee. Presently she said she must go home, so she was taken down ; but before she was allowed to leave, she was invited to go through the camp, each man insisting that she should visit his tent. She made, therefore, a complete tour, and in every tent some souvenir was pressed upon her, or she was begged to take her choice of its contents. Thus, before she had gone far, she had her arms full of things, and a string of men were following' her bearing- the articles she had hon- ored them by accepting. There were little looking-glasses, pin-cushions, pairs of scissors, pictures, razors, bits of gold- lace, cigar-holders, scarf-pins, and many other things. When she left camp she was quite piled up with things, whilst Tom Adams, who acted as her escort, marched behind 88 "NANCY PANSY:' her with a large basketful besides. She did not have room to take Harry, so she left her behind, on the assurance of Tom that she should be mended, and on the engagement of the entire company to take care of her. The soldiers fol- lowed her to the edge of the camp, and exacted from her a promise to come again next day, which she agreed to do if her mother would let her. And when she was out of sight, the whole command held a council of war over the fragments of Harry. When Adams reached the Judge's gate he made a negro who was passing take the basket in, thinking it better not to go himself up to the house. He said good-by, and Nancy Pansy started up the walk, whilst he waited at the gate. Suddenly she turned and came back. " Good-by!" she said, standing on tiptoe, and putting up her little face to be kissed. The young officer stooped over the gate and kissed her. "Good-by! Come again to-morrow." "Yes, if mamma will let me." And she tripped away with her armful of presents. Tom Adams remained leaning on the gate. He was thinking of his home far away. Suddenly he was aroused by hearing the astonished exclamations in the house as Nancy Pansy entered. He felt sure that they were insisting that the things should be sent back, and fearing that he mieht be seen, he left the spot and went slowly back to camp, where he found the soldiers still in a state of pleasurable excite- "NAXCY PANSY." S 9 ment over Nancy Pansy's visit. A collection was taken up for a purpose which appeared to interest everybody, and a cap nearly full of money was delivered to Tom Adams, with as many directions as to what he was to do with it as though it were to get a memorial for the Commander-in-chief. Tom said he had already determined to do the very same thing himself; still, if the company wished to "go in" with him, they could do it; so he agreed to take the money. V. ON the day following Nancy Pansy's visit to the camp of the Baby Veterans, Adams took to the post-office a bundle addressed to " Nancy Pansy," and a letter addressed to a friend of his who was in Washington. The bundle contained " Harry," as fully restored as her shattered state would admit of ; the letter contained a draft and a commission, the importance of which latter Captain Adams had put in the very strongest light. He held his head very high as he dropped his letter into the box, for over the table bent the slender figure of the little dark-eyed postmistress, who had wiped her dainty fingers so carefully after handling his letter. Perched near her on the table, just as she had been that day, with her tangled hair all over her face, was Nancy Pansy. She was, as usual, very busy over something ; but, hearing a step, she glanced up. " Oh, there's Tom Adams !" she exclaimed ; and, turning over on her face, she slipped down from the table and ran up to him, putting up her face to be kissed, just as she always did to the old doctor. Adams stooped over and kissed her, though, as he did o H H D o. g" E o E-> 0. P 2 w a NANCY PANSY." 93 so, he heard her sister turn around, and he felt as if she might be going to shoot him in the back. He straightened up with defiance in his heart. She was facing him ; but what was his astonishment when she advanced, and with a little smile on her lovely face, said : " Captain Adams, I am Miss Seddon. My mother has desired me to thank you in her name, and in all our names, for your act of protection to my little sister on yesterday." " Yes," said Nancy Pansy ; " he jus' knocked that bad man down," and she gave her little head a nod of satisfac- tion to one side. The young officer blushed to his eyes. He was prepared for an attack, but not for such a flank movement. He stam- mered something about not having done anything at all worthy of thanks, and fell back behind Harry, whom he sud- denly pulled out and placed in Nancy Pansy's hands. It all ended in an invitation from Mrs. Seddon, through Nancy Pansy and her pretty sister, to come up to the house and be thanked, which he accepted. After this the Baby Veterans and Middleburgh came to understand each other a good deal better than before. Instead of remaining in their camp or marching up and down the streets, with arrogance or defiance stamped on every face and speaking from every figure, the Baby Vet- erans took to loafing about town in off-duty hours, hang- ing- over the eates, or saunterinsf in the autumn twilight up and down the quiet walks. They and Middleburgh 94 "NANCY PANSY: still recognized that there was a broad ground, on which neither could trespass. The Baby Veterans still sang "The Star-spangled Banner" in the Court-house Grove, and Middleburoh still sany- "Dixie" and the "Bonnie Blue Flag " behind her rose trellises ; but there was no more gathering up of skirts, and disdainful wiping of hands after handling letters ; and the old doctor was allowed to go jogging about on his rounds, with Nancy Pansy and the scarred Harry at his side, as unmolested as if the Baby Veterans had never pitched their tents on the Court-house Square. It is barely possible that even the rigid invest- ment of the town relaxed a little as the autumn changed into winter, for once or twice old Limpid disappeared for several days, as he used to do before his arrest, and Nancy Pansy's pretty sister used to get letters from Harry, who was now a major. Nancy Pansy heard whispers of Harry's coming before long, and even of the whole army's coming. Somehow a rumor of this must have reached the authori- ties, though Nancy Pans}' never breathed a word of it ; for an officer was sent down to investigate the matter and report immediately. Just as he arrived he received secret word from some one that a rebel officer was actually in Middleburgh. That afternoon Nancy Pansy was playing in the bottom of the yard when a lot of soldiers came along the street, and before them rode a strange, cross-looking; man with a beard. Tom Adams was marching with the soldiers, and "NAACY PANSY." 95 he did not look at all pleased. They stopped at the old doctor's gate, and the strange man trotted up to her place and asked Nancy Pansy if she knew Captain Harry Hunter. "Yes, indeed," said Nancy Pansy, going up to the fence and poking her little rosy face over it ; " Harry's a major now." " Ah ! Harry's a major now, is he ? " said the strange man. Nancy Pansy went on to tell him how her Harry was named after the other Harry, and how she was all broken now ; but the officer was intent on something else. " Where is Harry now?" he asked her. " In the house," and she waved her hand toward the old doctor's house behind her. " So, so," said the officer, and went back to Tom Adams, who looked annoyed, and said : " I don't believe it; there's some mistake." At this the strange man got angry and said : " Lieuten- ant Adams, if you don't want the rebel caught, you can go back to camp." My! how angry Tom was ! His face got perfectly white, and he said : " Major Black, you are my superior, or you wouldn't dare to speak so to me. I have nothing to say now, but some day I'll out-rank you." Nancy Pansy did not know what they were talking about, but she did not like the strange man at all ; so when he asked her: "Won't you show me where Harry 96 "NANCY PANSY." is?" at first she said "No," and then "Yes, if you won't hurt him." " No, indeed," said the man. As Tom Adams was there she was not afraid ; so she went outside the grate and on into the old doctor's yard, followed by the soldiers and Tom Adams, who still looked angry, and told her she'd better run home. Some of the soldiers went around behind the house. " Where is he ? " the strange gentleman asked. " Asleep up-stairs in the company-room," said Nancy Pansy in a whisper. "You mustn't make any noise." She opened the door and they entered the house, Nancy Pansy on tiptoe and the others stepping softly. She was surprised to see the strange man draw a pistol ; but she was used to seeing pistols, so, though Tom Adams told her again to run home, she stayed there. "Which is the company-room?" asked the strange man. She pointed to the door at the head of the steps. " That's it." He turned to the soldiers. " Come ahead, men," he said, in a low voice, and ran lightly up the stairs, looking very fierce. When he reached the door he seized the knob and dashed into the room. Then Nancy Pansy heard him say some naughty words, and she ran up the stairs to see what was the matter. They were all standing around the big bed on which she had laid Harry an hour before, with her head on a pillow ; but a jerk of the counterpane had thrown Harry NANCY PANSY: 97 over on her face, and her broken neck and ear looked very bad. " Oh, you've waked her up ! " cried Nancy Pansy, rush- ing- forward, and turning the doll over. The strange man stamped out of the room, looking per- fectly furious, and the soldiers all laughed. Tom Adams looked pleased. 7 VI. WHEN Tom Adams next called at the Judge's, he found the atmosphere much cooler within the house than it was outside. He had been waiting alone in the drawing-room for some time when Nancy Pansy entered. She came in very slowly, and instead of running immediately up to him and greeting him as she usually did, she seated herself on the edge of a chair and looked at him with manifest suspicion. He stretched out his hand to her. " Come over, Nancy Pansy, and sit on my knee." Nancy Pansy shook her head. " My sister don't like you," she said slowly, eying him askance. " Ah ! " He let his hand fall on the arm of the chair. " No ; and I don't, either," said Nancy Pansy, more confidently. " Why doesn't she like me ?" asked Tom Adams. " Because you are so mean. She says you are just like all the rest of 'em ; " and, pleased at her visitor's interest, ■Nancy Pansy wriggled herself higher up on her chair, pre- pared to give him further details. " We don't like you at all," said the child, half conn- "NANCY PANSY: 99 dentially and half defiantly. " We like our side ; we like Confederates." Tom Adams smiled. " We like Harry ; we don't like you." She looked as defiant as possible, and just then a step was heard in the hall, approaching very slowly, and Nancy Pansy's sister appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in white, and she carried her head even higher than usual. The visitor rose. He thought he had never seen her look so pretty. " Good-evening," he said. She bowed " Good-evening," very slowly, and took a seat on a straight-backed chair in a corner of the room, ignoring the chair which Adams offered her. " I have not seen you for some time," he began. " No ; I suppose you have been busy searching people's houses," she said. Tom Adams flushed a little. " I carry out my orders," he said. " These I must enforce." "Ah!" Nancy Pansy did not just understand it all, but she saw there was a battle going on, and she at once aligned herself with her side, and going over, stood by her sister's chair, and looked defiance at the enemy. " Well, we shall hardly agree about this, so we won't discuss it," said Tom Adams. " I did not come to talk about this, but to see you, and to get you to sing for me." "NANCY PANSY: Refusal spoke so plainly in her face that he added : " Or, if you won't sing, to. get Nancy Pansy to sing for me." "/won't sing for you," declared Nancy Pansy, promptly and decisively. " What incorrigible rebels all of you are !" said Tom Adams, smiling. He was once more at his ease, and he pulled his chair up nearer Nancy Pansy's sister, and caught Nancy Pansy by the hand. She was just trying to pull away, when there were steps on the walk outside — the regular tramp, tramp of soldiers marching in some num- bers. They came up to the house, and some order was given in a low tone. Both Adams and Nancy Pansy's sister sprang to their feet. "What can it mean ?" asked Nancy Pansy's sister, more to herself than to Adams. He went into the hall just as there was a loud rap at the front door. "What is it ?" he asked the lieutenant who stood there. " Some one has slipped through the lines, and is in this house," he said. Nancy Pansy's sister stepped out into the hall. " There is no one here," she said. She looked at Tom Adams. " I give my word there is no one in the house except my mother, ourselves, and the servants." She met Tom Adams's gaze frankly as he looked into her eyes. " There is no one here, Hector," he said, turning to the officer. ■NANCY PANSY." " This is a serious matter," began the other, hesitatingly. " We have eood grounds to believe " " I will be responsible," said Tom Adams, firmly. " I have been here some time, and there is no one here." He took the officer aside and talked to him a moment. " All right," said he, as he went down the steps, " as you are so positive." " I am," said Tom. The soldiers marched down the walk, out of the gate, and around the corner. Just as the sound of their foot- steps died away on the soft road, Tom Adams turned and faced Nancy Pansy's sister. She was leaning against a pil- lar, looking down, and a little moonlight sifted through the rose-bushes and fell on her neck. Nancy Pansy had gone into the house. " I am sorry I said what I did in the parlor just now." She looked up at him. " Oh ! " said Tom Adams, and moved his hand a little. " I — " he began ; but just then there was a sudden scamper in the hall, and Nancy Pansy, with flying hair and dancing eyes, came rushing out on the portico. "Oh, sister!" she panted. "Harry's come; he's in mamma's room ! " Nancy Pansy's sister turned deadly white. " Oh, Nancy Pansy ! " she gasped, placing her hand over her mouth. Nancy Pansy burst into tears, and buried her face in her sister's dress. She had not seen Tom Adams ; she thought he had gone. io2 "NANCY PANSY." " I did not know it," said Nancy Pansy's sister, turning and facing Tom Adams's stern gaze. " I believe you," he said, slowly. He felt at his side ; but he was in a fatigue suit, and had no arms. Without fin- ishing his sentence he sprang over the railing, and with a long, swift stride went down the yard. She dimly saw him as he sprang over the fence, and heard him call, " Oh, Hector ! " As he did so, she rushed into the house. " Fly ! they are coming ! " she cried, bursting into her mother's room. " Oh, Harry, they are coming ! " she cried, rushing up to a handsome young fellow, who sprang to his feet as she entered, and went forward to meet her. The young man took her hand and drew her to him. " Well," he said, looking down into her eyes, and drawing a long breath. Nancy Pansy's sister put her face on his shoulder and began to cry, and Nancy Pansy rushed into her mother's arms and cried too. Ten minutes later soldiers came in both at the front and back doors. Mrs. Seddon met her visitors in the hall. Nancy Pansy's sister was on one side, and Nancy Pansy on the other. Tom Adams was in command. He removed his hat, but said, gravely : " I must arrest the young rebel officer who is here." Nancy Pansy made a movement ; but her mother tight- ened her clasp of her hand. NANCY PANSY." 103 " Yes," she said, bowing. That was all. Guards were left at the doors, and soldiers went through the house. The search was thorough, but the game had escaped. They were coming down the steps when some one said : " We must search the shrubbery ; he will be there." " No ; he is at his father's — the old doctor's," said Adams. It was said in an undertone, but Mrs. Seddon's face whitened ; Nancy Pansy caught it, too. She clutched her mother's gown. " Oh, mamma ! you hear what he says ? " Her mother stooped and whispered to her. " Yes, yes," nodded Nancy Pansy. She ran to the door, and poking her little head out, looked up and down the por- tico, calling, " Kitty, kitty !" The sentry who was standing there holding his gun moved a little, and, leaning out, peered into the dusk. " 'Tain't out here," he said, in a friendly tone. Nancy Pansy slipped past him, and went down the steps and around the portico, still calling, " Kitty ! Kitty ! Kitty !" " Who goes there ? " called a soldier, as he saw some- thing move over near the old doctor's fence ; but when he heard a childish voice call, " Kitty ! Kitty ! " he dropped his gun again with a laugh. "'Tain't nobody but that little gal, Nancy Pansy ; blest if I wa'n't about to shoot her!" io 4 "NANCY PANSY.' The next instant Nancy Pansy had slipped through her little hole in the fence, through which she had so often gone, and was in the old doctor's yard ; and when, five min- utes afterward, Tom Adams marched his men up the walk and surrounded and entered the house, Nancy Pansy, her broken doll in her arms, was sitting demurely on the edge of a large chair, looking at him with great, wide-open, danc- ing eyes. A little princess could not have been grander, and if she had hidden Harry Hunter behind her chair, she could not have shown more plainly that she had given him warning. VII. ALL Middleburgh knew next day how Nancy Pansy had saved Harry Hunter, and it was still talking about it, when it was one morning astonished by the news that old Dr. Hunter had been arrested in the night by the soldiers, who had come down from Washing- ton, and had been carried off somewhere. There had not been such excitement since the Middleburgh Artillery had marched away to the war. The old doctor was sacred. Why, to carry him off, and stop his old buggy rattling about the streets, was, in Middleburgh's eyes, like stopping the chariot of the sun, or turning the stars out of their courses. Why did they not arrest Nancy Pansy too ? asked Middleburgh. Nancy Pansy cried all day, and many times after, whenever she thought about it. She went to Tom Adams's camp and begged him to bring her old doc- tor back, and Tom Adams said as he had not had him arrested he could not tell what he could do, but he would do all he could. Then she wrote the old doctor a letter. However, all Middleburgh would not accept Tom Adams's statement as Nancy Pansy did, and instead of holding him as a favorite, it used to speak of him as " That Tom io6 "NANCY PANSY. 1 Adams." Every old woman in Middleburgh declared she was worse than she had been in ten years, and old Mrs. Hippin took to her crutch, which she had not used in twelve months, and told Nancy Pansy's sister she would die in a week unless she could hear the old doctor's buggy rattle again. But when the fever broke out in the little low houses down on the river, things began to look very seri- ous. The surgeon from the camp went to see the patients, but they died, and more were taken ill. When a number of other cases occurred in the town itself, all of the most malignant type, the surgeon admitted that it was a form of fever with which he was not familiar. There had never been such an epidemic in Middleburgh before, and Middle- burgh said that it was all due to the old doctor's absence. One day Nancy Pansy went to the camp, to ask about the old doctor, and saw a man sitting astride of a fence rail which was laid on two posts high up from the ground. He had a stone tied to each foot, and he was groaning. She looked up at him, and saw that it was the man who had broken her doll. She was about to run away, but he groaned so she thought he must be in great pain, and that always hurt her ; so she went closer, and asked him what was the matter. She did not understand just what he said, but it was something about the weight on his feet ; so she first tried to untie the strings which held the stones, and then, as there was a barrel standing by, she pushed at it until she got it up close under him, and told him to rest his feet on that, whilst she NANCY PANSYS 107 ran home and asked her mamma to lend her her scissors. In pushing the barrel she broke Harry's head in pieces ; but she was so busy she did not mind it then. Just as she got the barrel in place some one called her, and turning around she saw a sentinel ; he told her to go away, and he kicked the barrel from under the man and let the stones drop down and jerk his ankles again. Nancy Pansy began to cry, and ran off up to Tom Adams's tent and told him all about it, and how the poor man was groaning. Tom Adams tried to explain that this man had got drunk, and that he was a bad man, and was the same one who had broken her doll. It had no effect. " Oh, but it hurts him so bad ! " said Nancy Pansy, and she cried until Tom Adams called a man and told him he might go and le.t O'Meara down, and tell him that the little girl had begged him off this time. Nancy Pansy, however, ran herself, and called to him that Tom Adams said he might get down. When he was on the ground, he walked up to her and said : " May the Holy Virgin kape you ! Griff O'Meara'll never forgit you." A few days after that Nancy Pansy complained of head- ache, and her mother kept her in the house. That even- ing- her face was flushed, and she had a fever ; so her mother put her to bed and sat by her. She went to sleep, but waked in the night, talking very fast. She had a burn- ing fever, and was quite out of her head. Mrs. Seddon sent for the surgeon next morning, and he came and stayed 10S "NANCY PANSY." some time. When he returned to camp he went to Tom Adams's tent. He looked so grave as he came in that Adams asked quickly : " Any fresh cases ? " " Not in camp." He sat down. " Where ? " " That little girl — Nancy Pansy." Tom Adams's face turned whiter than it had ever turned in battle. " Is she ill ? " " Desperately." Tom Adams sprang to his feet. " How long — how long can she hold out ?" he asked, in a broken voice. " Twenty-four hours, perhaps," said the surgeon. Tom Adams put on his cap and left the tent. Five minutes later he was in the hall at the Judge's. Just as he entered, Nancy Pansy's sister came quickly out of a door. She had been crying. " How is she ? I have just this instant heard of it," said Tom, with real grief in his voice. She put her handkerchief to her eyes. " So ill," she sobbed. " Can I see her ?" asked Tom, gently. " Yes ; it won't hurt her." When Tom Adams entered the room he was so shocked that he stopped still. Mrs. Seddon bent over the bed with ■NANCY PANSY." 109 her face pale and worn, and in the bed lay Nancy Pansy, so changed that Tom Adams never would have known her. She had fallen off so in that short time that he would not have recognized her. Her face was perfectly white, except two bright red spots on her cheeks. She was drawing short, quick breaths, and was talking all the time very fast. No one could understand just what she was saying, but a good deal of it was about Harry and the old doctor. Tom bent over her, but she did not know him ; she just went on talking faster than ever. " Nancy Pansy, don't you know Tom Adams ? " her mother asked her, in a soothing voice. She had never called the young man so before, and he felt that it gave him a place with Nancy Pansy; but the child did not know him ; she said something about not having any Harry. " She is growing weaker," said her mother. Tom Adams leaned over and kissed the child, and left the room. As he came down the steps he met Griff O'Meara, who asked how the " little gurl " was, " bless her sowl ! " When he told him, Griff turned away and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Tom Adams told him to stay there and act as guard, which Griff vowed he'd do if the " howl ribel army kem." Ten minutes later Tom galloped out of camp with a paper in his pocket signed by the surgeon. In an hour he had covered the twelve miles of mud which lay between •NANCY PANSY." Middleburgh and the nearest telegraph station, and was sending a message to General , his commander. At last an answer came. Tom Adams read it. " Tell him it is a matter of life and death," he said to the operator. "Tell him there is no one else who under- stands it and can check it, and tell him it must be done before the afternoon train leaves, or it will be too late. Here, I'll write it out." And he did so, putting all his eloquence into the despatch. Late that night two men galloped through the mud and slush in the direction of Middleburgh. The younger one had a large box before him on his horse ; the other was quite an old man. Picket after picket was passed with a word spoken by the younger man, and they gal- loped on. At last they stopped at the Judge's gate, and sprang from their splashed and smoking horses. As they hurried up the walk, the guard at the steps chal- lenged them in a rich Irish brogue. " It's I, O'Meara. You here still ? How is she ? " "'Most in the Holv Virgin's arms," said the Irishman. "Is she alive ? " asked both men. " It's a docther can tell that," said the sentinel. " They thought her crone an hour aeo. There's several in there," he said to his captain. " I didn't let 'em in at firrst, but the young leddy said they wuz the frien's of the little gurl, an' I let 'em by a bit." A minute later the old man entered the sick-room, whilst ■NANCY PANSY." Tom Adams stopped at the door outside. There was a gen- eral cry as he entered of, " Oh, doctor ! " And Mrs. Seddon called him : " Quick, quick, doctor ! she's dying ! " " She's dead," said one of the ladies who stood by. The old doctor bent over the little still white form, and his countenance fell. She was not breathing-. With one hand he picked up her little white arm and felt for the pulse ; with the other he took a small case from his pocket. " Brandy," he said. It was quickly handed him. He poured some into a little syringe, and stuck it into Nancy Pansy's arm, by turns holding her wrist and feeling over her heart. Presently he said, quietly, " She's living," and both Mrs. Seddon and Nancy Pansy's sister said, " Thank God ! " All night long the old doctor worked over Nancy Pansy. Just before dawn he said to Mrs. Seddon: "What day is this?" " Christmas morning," said Mrs. Seddon. "Well, madam, I hope God has answered your prayers, and given your babe back to you ; I hope the crisis is passed. Have you hung up her stocking?" " No," said Nancy Pansy's mother. " She was so — " She could not say anything more. Presently she added : "She was all the time talking about you and Harry." The old doctor rose and went out of the room. It was about dawn. He left the house, and went over to his own home. There, after some difficulty, he got in, and went to NANCY PANSY." his office. His old secretary had been opened and papers taken out, but the old man did not seem to mind it. Pulling the secretary out from the wall, he touched a secret spring. It did not work at first, but after a while it moved, and he put his hand under it, and pulled out a secret drawer. In it were a number of small parcels carefully tied up with pieces of ribbon, which were now quite faded, and from one peeped a curl of soft brown hair, like that of a little girl. The old doctor laid his fingers softly on it, and his old face wore a gentle look. The largest bundle was wrapped in oil-silk. This he took out and carefully unwrapped. Inside was yet another wrapping of tissue paper. He put the bundle, with a sigh, into his overcoat pocket, and went slowly back to the Judge's. Nancy Pansy was still sleeping quietly. The old doctor asked for a stocking and it was brought him. He took the bundle from his pocket, and, unwrapping it, held it up. It was a beautiful doll, with yellow hair done up with little tucking combs such as ladies used to wear, and with a lovely little old tiny-flowered silk dress. " She is thirty years old, madam," he said gently to Mrs. Seddon, as he slipped the doll into the stocking, and hung it on the bed-post. " I have kept her for thirty years, think- ing I could never give it to any one ; but last night I knew I loved Nancy Pansy enough to give it to her." He leaned over and felt her pulse. " She is sleeping well," he said. Just then the door opened, and in tipped Tom Adams, followed by Griff O'Meara in his stocking feet, bearing a ■NANCY PANSY." 113 large baby-house fitted up like a perfect palace, with every room carpeted and furnished, and with a splendid doll sitting on a balcony. " A Christmas gift to that blessed angel from the Baby Veterans, mem," he said, as he set it down ; and then taking from his bulging pocket a large red-cheeked doll in a green frock, he placed it in the door of the house, saying, with great pride : " An' this from Griff O'Meara. Heaven bless her swate soul ! " Just then Nancy Pansy stirred and opened her eyes. Her mother bent over her, and she smiled faintly. Mrs. Seddon slipped down on her knees. "Where's my old doctor and my dolly?" she said; and then, presently, " Where's Harry and Tom Adams ? " "JACK AND JAKE / c •>•> I. JACK AND JAKE." This is what they used to be called. Their names were always coupled together. Wherever you saw one, you were very apt to see the other — Jack, slender, with yellow hair, big gray eyes, and spirited look ; and Jake, thick-set and brown, close to him, like his shadow, with his shining skin and white teeth. They were always in sight somewhere ; it might be running about the yard or far down on the plantation, or it might be climbing trees to look into birds' nests — which they were forbidden to trouble — or wadinsj in the creek, riding in the carts or wagons about the fields, or following the furrow, waiting a chance to ride a plough-horse home. Jake belonged to Jack. He had been given to him by his old master, Jack's grandfather, when Jack was only a few years old, and from that time the two boys were rarely sepa- rated, except at night. Jake was a little larger than Jack, as he was somewhat older, but Jack was the more active. Jake was dull ; some n6 "JACK AND JAKE." people on the plantation said he did not have good sense ; but they rarely ventured to say so twice to Jack. Jack said he had more sense than any man on the place. At least, he idolized Jack. At times the people commented on the white boy being so much with the black ; but Jack's father said it was as natural for them to run together as for two calves — a black one and a white one — when they were turned out together ; that he had played with Uncle Ralph, the butler, when they were boys, and had taught the latter as much badness as he had him. So the two boys grew up together as " Jack and Jake," forming a friendship which prevented either of them ever knowing that Jake was a slave, and brought them up as friends rather than as master and servant. If there was any difference, the boys thought it was rather in favor of Jake ; for Jack had to go to school, and sit for some hours every morning " saying lessons" to his aunt, and had to look out (sometimes) for his clothes, while Jake just lounged around outside the school-room door, and could do as he pleased, for he was sure to get Jack's suit as soon as it had become too much worn for Jack. The games they used to play were surprising. Jack always knew of some interesting thing they could " make 'tence " (that is, pretence) that they were doing. They could be fishers and trappers, of course ; for there was the creek winding down the meadow, in and out among; the 'JACK AND JAKE." 117 heavy willows on its banks ; and in the holes under the fences and by the shelving rocks, where the water was blue and deep, there were shining minnows, and even little perch ; and they could be lost on rafts, for there was the pond, and with their trousers rolled up to their thighs they could get on planks and pole themselves about. But the best fun of all was " Injins." Goodness ! how much fun there was in Injins ! There were bows and arrows, and tomahawks, and wigwams, and fires in the woods, and painted faces, and creeping-ups, and scalpings, and stealing horses, and hot pursuits, and hidings, and cap- tures, and bringing the horses back, and the full revenge and triumph that are clear to boys' hearts. Injins was, of all plays, the best. There was a dear old wonderful fellow named Leatherstocking, who was the greatest "Injin "-hunter in the world. Jack knew all about him. He had a book with him in it, and he read it and told Jake ; and so they played Injins whenever they wanted real fun. It was a beautiful place for Injins ; the hills rolled, the creeks wound in and out amongf the willows, and ran through thickets into the little river, and the woods surrounded the plantation on all sides, and stretched across the river to the Mont Air place, so that the boys could cross over and play on the other side of the thick woods. When the war came, Jack was almost a big boy. He thought he was quite one. He was ten years old, and grew old two years at a time. His father went off with the army, n8 "JACK AND JAKE." and left his mother at home to take care of the plantation and the children. That included Ancy and wee Martha ; not Jack, of course. So far from leaving any one to take care of Jack, he left Jack to take care of his mother. The morning he went away he called Jack to him and had a talk with him. He told him he wanted him to mind his mother, and look out for her, to help her and save her trouble, to take care of her and comfort her, and defend her always like a man. Jack was standing right in front of him, and when the talk began he was fidgety, because he was in a great hurry to go to the stable and ride his father's horse Warrior to the house ; but his father had never talked to him so before, and as he proceeded, Jack became grave, and when his father took his hand, and, looking him quietly in the eyes, said, "Will you, my son?" he burst out crying, and flung his arms around his father's neck, and said, " Yes, father, I will." He did not go out of the house any more then ; he left the horse to be brought down by Uncle Henry, the carriage- driver, and he sat quietly by his father, and kept his eyes on him, getting him anything he wanted ; and he waited on his mother ; and when his father went away, he kissed him, and said all over again that he would do what he promised. And when his mother locked herself in her room afterward, Jack sat on the front porch alone, in his father's chair, and waited. And when she came out on the porch, with her eyes red from weeping and her face worn, he did not say "JACK AND JAKE." 119 anything, but quietly went and got her a glass of water. His father's talk had aged him. For the first two years, the war did not make much difference to Jack personally. It made a difference to the country, and to the people, and to his mother, but not to Jack individually, though it made a marked difference in him. It made him older. His father's words never were forgotten. They had sobered him and steadied him. He had seen a good deal of the war. The troop trains passed up the railroad, the soldiers cheering and shouting, filling the cars and crowding on top of them ; the army, or parts of it, marched through the country by the county roads, camping in the woods and fields. Many soldiers stopped at Jack's home, where open house was kept, and everything was gladly given to them. All the visitors now were sol- diers. Jack rode the gentlemen's horses to water, with Jake behind him, if there was but one (in which case the horse was apt to get several waterings), or galloping after him, if there were more. They were hard riders, and got many falls, for the young officers were usually well mounted, and their horses were wild. But a fall was no disgrace. Jack remembered that his father once said to him, when a colt had thrown him, " All bold riders get falls ; only those do not who ride tame horses." All the visitors were in uniform ; all the talk was of war ; all thoughts were of the Confederacy. Every one was enthusiastic. No sacrifices were too great to be made. The i20 "JACK AND JAKE.' corn-houses were emptied into the great, covered, blue army wagons ; the pick of the horses and mules was given up. Provisions became scanty and the food plain ; coffee and tea disappeared ; clothes that were worn out were replaced by homespun. Jack dressed in the same sort of coarse, grayish stuff of which Jake's clothes used to be made ; and his boots were made by Uncle Dick at the quarters ; but this did not trouble him. It was rather fun than otherwise. Boys like to rough it. He had come to care little for these things. He was getting manlier. His mother called him her pro- tector ; his father, when he came home, as he did once or twice a year, called him " a man," and introduced him to his friends as " my son." His mother began to consult him, to rely on him, to call on him. He used to go about with her, or go for her wherever she had business, however far off it might be. The war had been going on two years, when the enemy first reached Jack's home. It was a great shock to Jack, for he had never doubted that the Confederates would keep them back. There had been a great battle some time before, and his father had been wounded and taken prisoner (at first he was reported killed). But for that, Jack said, the "Yankees" would never have got there. The Union troops did not trouble Jack personally ; but they made a great deal of trouble about the place. They took all the horses and mules that were good for anything and put them in their wagons. This was a terrible blow to Jack. All his life he "JACK AND JAKE." had been brought up with the horses ; each one was his pet or his friend. After that the war seemed to be much more about Jack's home than it had been before. The place was in the posses- sion first of one army and then of the other, and at last, one winter, the two armies lay not far apart, with Jack's home just between them. " The Yankees " were the nearer. Their pickets were actually on the plantation, at the ford, and at the bridge over the little river into which the creek emptied, in the big woods. There they lay, with their camps over behind the hills, a mile or two farther away. At night the glow of their camp-fires could be seen. Jack had a pretty aunt who used to stay with his mother, and many young officers used to come over from the Confederate side to see her. In such cases, they usually came at night, leav- ing their horses, for scouting parties used to come in on them occasionally and stir them up. Once or twice skir- mishes took place in the fields beyond the creek. One evening a party of young officers came in and took supper. They had some great plan. They were quite mys- terious, and consulted with Jack's mother, who was greatly interested in them. They appeared a little shy of talking before Jack ; but when his mother said he had so much judg- ment that he could be trusted, they talked openly in his pres- ence. They had a plan to go into the Federal camp that night and seize the commanding officer. They wanted to know all the paths. Jack could tell them. He was so "JACK AND JAKE." proud. There was not a cow-path he did not know for two or three miles around, for he and Jake had hunted all over the country. He could tell them everything, and he did so with a swelling heart. They laid sheets of paper down on the dining-table, and he drew them plans of the roads and hills and big woods ; showed where the river could be waded, and where the ravines were. He asked his mother to let him go along with them, but she thought it best for him not to go. They set out at bed-time on foot, a half-dozen gay young fellows, laughing and boasting of what they would do, and Jack watched them enviously as their forms faded away in the night. They did not succeed in capturing the officer ; but they captured a number of horses and a picket at the bridge, and came off triumphant, with only one or two of their num- ber slightly wounded. Shortly afterwards they came over, and had a great time telling their experiences. They had used the map Jack made for them, and had got safely beyond the pickets and reached the camp. There, finding the sen- tries on guard, they turned back, and taking the road, marched down on the picket, as if they had come to relieve them. Coming from the camp in this way, they had got upon the picket, when, suddenly drawing their pistols and poking them up against the Yankees, they forced them to surrender, and disarmed them. Then taking two of them off separately, they compelled them to give the countersign. Having got this, they left the prisoners under guard of two 'JACK AND JAKE." 125 of their number, and the rest went back to camp. With the countersign they passed the sentry, and went into the camp. Then they found that the commanding officer had gone off somewhere, and was not in camp that night, and there were so many men stirring about that they did not dare to wait. They determined, therefore, to capture some horses and return. They were looking over the lines of horses to take their pick when they were discovered. Each man had selected a horse, and was trying to get him, when the alarm was given, and they were fired on. They had only time to cut the halters when the camp began to pour out. Flinging themselves on the horses' backs, they dashed out under a fusillade, firing right and left. They took to the road, but it had been picketed, and they had to dash through the men who held it under a fire poured into their faces. All had passed safely except one, whose horse had become unman- ageable, and had run away, flying the track and taking to the fields. He was, they agreed, the finest horse in the lot, and his rider had had crreat trouble sfettinsr him, and had lingered so long that he came near being captured. He had finally cut the halter, and had cut it too short to hold by. They had great fun laughing at their comrade, and the figure he cut as his barebacked horse dashed off into the darkness, with him swinging to the mane. He had shortly been dragged off of him in the woods, and when he appeared in camp next day, he looked as if he had been run through a 126 "JACK AND JAKE: mill. His eyes were nearly scratched out of his head, and his uniform was torn into shreds. The young fellow, who still showed the marks of his bruis- ing, took the chaffing good-naturedly, and confessed that he had nearly lost his life trying to hold on to his captive. He had been down into the woods the next day to try and get his horse ; though it was the other side of the little river, and really within the Federal lines. But though he caught sight of him, it was only a glimpse. The animal was much too wild to be caught, and the only thing he received for his pains was a grazing shot from a picket, who had caught sight of him prowling around, and had sent a ball through his cap. The narration of the capture and escape made Jack wild with excitement. All the next day he was in a state of tremor, and that evening he and Jake spent a long time up in the barn together talking, or rather Jack talking and Jake listening. Jake seemed to be doubtful ; but Jack's enthusi- asm carried all before him, and Jake yielded, as he nearly always did. All that evening after they got back to the house Jack was very quiet. It was the quiet of suppressed excitement. He was thinking. Next day, after dinner, he and Jake started out. They were very mysterious. Jack carried a rope that they got from the stable, and the old musket that he used in hunting. Jake carried an axe and some corn. They struck out for the creek as if they were going hunting in the big woods, which 'JACK AND JAKE." 127 they entered ; but at the creek they turned and made for about opposite where Jack understood his friend had been thrown by the wild horse that night. They had to avoid the pickets on the roads, so they stuck to the woods. At the river the first difficulty presented itself ; the bridge and ford were picketed. How were they to get across? It was over their heads in the middle. Jack could swim a little, but Jake could not swim a stroke. Besides, they did not wish to get their clothes wet, as that would betray them at home. Jack thought of a raft, but that would take too long to make ; so finally they decided to go down the stream and try to cross on an old tree that had fallen into the water two or three years before. The way down was quite painful, for the underbrush along the banks was very dense, and was matted with bram- bles and briers, which stuck through their clothes ; added to which there was a danger of "snakes," as Jake constantly insisted. But after a slow march they reached the tree. It lay diagonally across the stream, as it had fallen, its roots on the bank on their side and the branches not quite reaching the other bank. This was a disappointment. However, Jack determined to try, and if it was not too deep beyond the branches, then Jake could come. Accordingly, he pulled off his clothes, and carefully tying them up in a bundle, he equipped himself with a long pole and crawled out on the log. When he got among the branches, he fastened his bundle and let himself down. It was a little over his head. 128 "JACK AND JAKE." but he let eo, and with a few vigorous strokes he reached the other side. The next thing to do was to get Jake over. Jake was still on the far side, and, with his eyes wide open, was declaring, vehemently, " Nor, sir," he "warn gwine to git in that deep water, over his head." He " didn't like water nohow." Jack was in a dilemma. Jake had to be got over, and so had his clothes. They had an axe. They could cut poles if he could get back. There was nothing for it but to try. Accordingly he went up a little way, took a plunge, and, after hard pulling and much splashing and blowing, got back to the tree and climbed up. They were afraid the Yankees might see them if they worked too long on the river, as it was a little cleared up on the hill above, so they went back into the woods and set to work, jack selected a young pine not too large for them to " tote," and they cut it down, and cut off two poles, which they carried down to the river, and finally, after much trouble, worked along the tree in the water, and got them stretched across from the branch of the fallen log to the other bank. Jake could hardly be persuaded to try it, but Jack offered him all his biscuit (his customary coin with Jake), and promised to help him, and finally Jake was got over, " cooning it" — by which was meant crawling on his hands and knees. The next thing was to find the horse, for Jack had deter- mined to capture him. This was a difficult thing to effect. In the first place, he might not be there at all, as he might have escaped or have been caught ; and the woods had to be "JACK AND JAKE." 129 explored with due regard to the existence of the Federal pickets, who were posted at the roads and along the paths. If the pickets caught sight of them they might be shot, or even captured. The latter seemed much the worse fate to |ack, unless, indeed, the Yankees should send them to John- son's Island, where his father was. In that case, however, what would his mother do ? It would not do to be captured. Jack laid out the plan of campaign. They would " beat the woods," going up the stream at a sufficient distance apart, Jake, with the axe and corn, on the inside, and he, with the gun and rope, outside. Thus, if either should be seen, it would be he, and if he came on a soldier, he, having the gain, would capture him. He gave orders that no word was to be spoken. If any track was found notice was to be given by imitating a partridge ; if danger appeared, it was to be shown by the cat-bird's call of " Naik, naik." This was the way they used to play " Injins." They worked their way along for an hour or two with- out seeing any traces, and Jake, contrary to Jack's com- mand, called out to him : " Oh, Jack, we ain' gwine fine no horse down heah ; dese woods is too big ; he done los'. There's a clearin' right ahead here ; let's go home." There was a little field just ahead, with one old cabin in it ; a path ran down from it to the bridge. Jack replied in the cat-bird's warning note of " Naik, naik," but Jake was tired of working his way through briers and bushes, and he 1 3 o "JACK AND JAKE.' begfan to come over toward lack, still calling to him. Sud- denly there was a shout just ahead ; they stopped ; it was repeated. " Who dat calling' ?" asked Jake, in a frightened under- tone. " Hush ! it's a picket," said Jack, stooping and motioning him back, just as a volume of white smoke with blazes in it seemed to burst out of the woods at the edge of the clearing, and the stillness was broken by the report of half a dozen carbines. Leaves and pieces of bark fell around them, but the bullets flew wide of their mark. " Run, fake ! " shouted Jack, as he darted away ; but Jake had not waited for orders ; he had dropped his axe and corn, and was " flying." Jack soon came up with him, and they dashed along to- gether, thinking that perhaps the picket knew where they had crossed the river, and would try to cut them oft. In their excitement they took a way farther from the river than that by which they had come. The woods were open, and there were small spaces covered with coarse grass on the little streams. As they ran along down a hill approaching one of these, the) - heard a sound of trampling coming towards them which brought them to a sudden stand-still with their hearts in their mouths. It must be the enemy. They were coming at full gallop. What a crashing they made coming on ! They did not have time to run, and Jack immediately cocked his old musket and resolved at least to fight. Just 'JACK AND JAKE." then there galloped up to him, and almost over him, a mag- nificent bay horse without saddle or bridle. At sight of Jack he swerved and gave a loud snort of alarm, and then, with his head high in the air, and with his dilated red nostrils and eyes wide with fright, went dashing off into the woods. II. " r I ^ HE horse! the horse! Here he is! here he is!" shouted Jack, taking out after him as hard as he could, and calling to Jake to come on. In a minute or two the horse was far beyond them, and they stopped to listen and get his direction ; and while they were talking, even the sound of his trampling died away. But they had found him. They knew he was still there, a wild horse in the woods. In their excitement all their fear had vanished as quickly as it had come. Jake suggested something about being cut off at the tree, but Jack pooh-poohed it now. He was afire with excitement. How