, an'
ye'll find a bin full o' corn meal there an' a side o' bacon in the
cellar. Them hens," he added wistfully "is Dominickers. _She_ was fond
o' them--an' the Chiny ducks, too."

"I'll be kind to them," she said.

He rested his lean jaw in one huge hand, musing, dim-eyed, silent. Far
away a cow bell tinkled, and he turned his head, peering out across the
tangled pasture lot.

"We called our caow Jinny," he said. "She's saucy and likes to plague
folks. But I don't never chase her; no, ma'am. You jest set there by
them pasture bars, kinder foxin' that you ain't thinkin' o' nothin',
and Jinny she'll come along purty soon."

The girl nodded.

"Waal," he muttered, rousing up, "I guess it's time to go." He looked at
her, his eyes resting upon the clothing of his dead wife.

"You see," he said, "I've give all I've got to the Union. Now, ma'am,
what shall I tell our boys if I git through?"

In a low, clear voice she gave him the message to Reynolds, repeating it
slowly until he nodded his comprehension.

"If they turn you back," she said, "and if they follow you here,
remember I'm your daughter."

He nodded again. "My Cynthy."

"Cynthia?"

"Yaas, 'm. Cynthy was _her_ name, you see; James is mine, endin' in
Gray. I'll come back when I can. I guess there's vittles to spare an'
garden sass----"

He passed his great cracked knuckles over his face again, digging
hastily into the corners of his eyes, then leaned forward and shook the
rusty reins.

"Git up!" he said thoughtfully, and the ancient buckboard creaked away
into the thickening twilight.

She watched him from the door, lingering there, listening to the creak
of the wheels long after he had disappeared. She was deadly tired--too
tired to eat, too tired to think--yet there was more to be done before
she closed her eyes. The blanket on the bed she spread upon the floor,
laid in it her saddle and bridle, boots, papers, map, and clothing, and
made a bundle; then slinging it on her slender back, she carried it up
the ladder to the loft under the roof.

Ten minutes later she lay on the bed below, the back of one hand across
her closed eyes, breathing deeply as a sleeping child--the most
notorious spy in all America, the famous "Special Messenger," carrying
locked under her smooth young breast a secret the consequence of which
no man could dare to dream of.

* * * * *

Dawn silvering the east aroused her. Cockcrow,