slap. "I've got an
idea."

"Out with it," said George.

"Listen," went on his friend. "Here is the situation. If we try to push to
the westward, to join Mitchell's forces, in broad daylight, or even at
night, we are pretty sure to be captured if we try to palm ourselves off
as Kentucky Southerners. If we hide in the woods, and keep away from
people, we will simply starve to death--and that won't be much of an
improvement. That Kentucky story won't work now; it has been used too much
as it is. Therefore, if we are to escape arrest, we must change our
characters."

"Change our characters?" repeated George, in wonderment.

"Exactly. Suppose that we boldly move through the country as two
professional beggars, and thus gradually edge our way to the westward,
without appearing to do so. You can sing negro songs, can't you?"

"Yes; and other songs, too."

"That's good. And Waggie has some tricks, hasn't he?"

"He can play dead dog--and say his prayers--and howl when I sing--and do
some other tricks."

"Then I've got the whole scheme in my mind," said Watson, with enthusiasm.
"Let me play a blind man, with you as my leader. I think I can fix my eyes
in the right way. We can go from farm to farm, from house to house,
begging a meal, and you can sing, and put the dog through his tricks.
People are not apt to ask the previous history of beggars--nor do I think
any one will be likely to connect us with the train-robbers."

George clapped his hands.

"That's fine!" he said. There was a novelty about the proposed plan that
strongly appealed to his spirit of adventure.

Watson's face suddenly clouded.

"Come to think of it," he observed, "the combination of a man, a boy and a
dog will be rather suspicious, even under our new disguise. Remember
Farmer Jason's letter last night."

"That's all very well," retorted George, who had fallen in love with the
beggar scheme, "but if we get away from this particular neighborhood the
people won't have heard anything about a dog or a boy. They will only know
that some Northern spies are at large--and they won't be suspicious of a
blind man and his friends."

"I reckon you're right," said Watson, after a little thought. "Let us get
away from here, before it grows lighter, and put the neighbors behind
us."

The man and boy, and the telltale dog, jumped to their feet.

"Good-bye, Mr. Buckley," murmured Watson, as he took a last look at the
minister's house, "and heaven bless you