e startled with his energy, as he demanded--

"You remember dat, Mrs. cap'in! Who gib him--who cure him--um?"

"Upon my word, Nick, you almost frighten me. I fear I gave you the
disease, but it was for your own good it was done. You were inoculated
by myself, when the soldiers were dying around us, because they had
never had that care taken of them. All I inoculated lived; yourself
among the number."

The startling expression passed away from the fierce countenance of the
savage, leaving in its place another so kind and amicable as to prove
he not only was aware of the benefit he had received, but that he was
deeply grateful for it. He drew near to Mrs. Willoughby, took her still
white and soft hand in his own sinewy and dark fingers, then dropped
the blanket that he had thrown carelessly across his body, from a
shoulder, and laid it on a mark left by the disease, by way of pointing
to her good work. He smiled, as this was done.

"Ole mark," he said, nodding his head--"sign we good friend--he nebber
go away while Nick live."

This touched the captain's heart, and he tossed a dollar towards the
Indian, who suffered it, however, to lie at his feet unnoticed. Turning
to the stockade, he pointed significantly at the open gateways.

"Great danger go t'rough little 'ole," he said, sententiously, walking
away as he concluded. "Why you leave big 'ole open?"

"We _must_ get those gates hung next week," said the captain,
positively; "and yet it is almost absurd to apprehend anything serious
in this remote settlement, and that at so early a period in the war."

Nothing further passed on the lawn worthy to be recorded. The sun set,
and the family withdrew into the house, as usual, to trust to the
overseeing care of Divine Providence, throughout a night passed in a
wilderness. By common consent, the discourse turned upon things noway
connected with the civil war, or its expected results, until the party
was about to separate for the night, when the major found himself alone
with his sisters, in his own little parlour, dressing-room, or study,
whatever the room adjoining his chamber could properly be called.

"You will not leave us soon, Robert," said Beulah, taking her brother's
hand, with confiding affection, "I hardly think my father young and
active enough, or rather _alarmed_ enough, to live in times like
these!"

"He is a soldier, Beulah, and a good one; so good that his son can
teach him nothing. I wish I could say