ged beforehand,
that Tom, his son, should conceal himself in the cellar; and, of course,
he did not expect to find him in the chimney.

In short, all his expectations had been defeated, and he himself had
opened the trap for his son to enter. He probably knew how strict was the
discipline of the rebel army in respect to deserters. He had frequently
heard of executions of persons of this class; and he could hardly expect
his son to escape the penalty of his misconduct. He had broken his
bargain with the fugitive; and, in attempting to surrender him to his
implacable enemies, he had deprived his heir of liberty, if not of life.

"This is your Yankee, is it?" demanded the sergeant, as he gazed at the
remnants of the rebel uniform which Tom still wore.

"No, no; this ain't the Yankee!" stammered the farmer.

"Well, you needn't tell us who he is; for we know. I was told to keep a
sharp lookout for one Tom Rigney, a deserter; and I reckon this is the
chap. You are my prisoner, my fine lad."

"There, now, dad!--d'ye see what ye've done?" snarled poor Tom Rigney, as
he glanced reproachfully at the patriarch, who had unwittingly sprung the
trap upon him.

"I didn't do it, Tom," replied Farmer Rigney, appalled at the calamity
which had overtaken his house.

"Didn't you bring me in here to capture this boy?" asked the sergeant,
who appeared to be bewildered by the unnatural act of the father.

"I brought yer here to take the Yank, who was as sassy as a four-year-old
colt."

"He promised the Yankee he'd take keer on him till night," added the
vengeful Tom.

"That was only to keep him here till I could fotch somebody to take keer
on him," pleaded the farmer. "The Yank must be up chimley now," he
continued, reminded that his own reputation for loyalty to the great and
general Southern Confederacy was now doubly compromised.

"He ain't up there, dad, nohow," said Tom.

"Where is he?" demanded the sergeant.

"Dunno."

"Where did he go?"

"Dunno."

"Didn't you see him?"

"I reckon it was too dark, up chimley, to see anything."

"Haven't you seen him?"

"I reckon I have. He woked up, and druv me up chimley right smart, with
the pistol in his hand; reckon, if I hadn't gone, I'd been a dead man;
I'll be dog scotched if I shouldn't."

"You say he drove you up the chimney?" demanded the sergeant.

"I reckon he did."

"Where did he go, then?"

"Dunno."

"Yes, you do know! If you don't tell, you'll get a bayone