ble.

"Why don't he say something?" thought Harry.

"He is a very queer old man."

After a while his host spoke.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

"No," said Harry, looking at him.

"You've heard of me often," pursued the old man.

"I didn't know it," answered Harry, beginning to feel curious.

"In history," added the other.

"In history?"

"Yes."

Harry began to look at him in increased surprise.

"Will you tell me your name, if it is not too much trouble," he asked,
politely.

"I gained the victory of New Orleans," said the old man.

"I thought General Jackson did that," said Harry.

"You're right," said the old man, complacently. "I am General Jackson."

"But General Jackson is dead."

"That's a mistake," said the old man, quietly. "That's what they say in
all the books, but it isn't true."

This was amusing, but it was also startling. Harry knew now that the old
man was crazy, or at least a monomaniac, and, though he seemed harmless
enough, it was of course possible that he might be dangerous. He was
almost sorry that he had sought shelter here. Better have encountered
the storm in its full fury than place himself in the power of a maniac.
The rain was now falling in thick drops, and he decided at any rate to
remain a while longer. He knew that it would not be well to dispute the
old man, and resolved to humor his delusion.

"You were President once, I believe?" he asked.

"Yes," said the old man; "and you won't tell anybody, will you?"

"No."

"I mean to be again," said the old man in a low voice, half in a
whisper. "But you mustn't say anything about it. They'd try to kill me,
if they knew it."

"Who would?"

"Mr. Henry Clay, and the rest of them."

"Doesn't Henry Clay want you to be President again?"

"Of course not. He wants to be President himself. That's why I'm hiding.
They don't any of them know where I am. You won't tell, will you?"

"No."

"You might meet Henry Clay, you know."

Harry smiled to himself. It didn't seem very likely that he would ever
find himself in such distinguished company, for Henry Clay was at that
time living, and a United States Senator.

"What made you come here, General Jackson?" he inquired.

The old man brightened, on being called by this name.

"Because it was quiet. They can't find me here."

"When do you expect to be President again?"

"Next year," said the old man. "I've got it all arranged. My friends
are to blow up the capitol,