condition to return to duty whenever he saw fit to do so, he
asked Rachel:

"Kin I speak ter ye a moment in private, Miss?"

"Certainly," she replied. "Come right in here."

Entering the room he closed the door behind them, and made a minute
survey of the windows, and other points of vantage for eavesdroppers.
This done, he returned to where Rachel was watching his operations with
much curiosity, and said:

"Let's set down. I guess no one'll overhear us, ef we're keerful.

"Hev ye enny idee who I am?" he asked abruptly, as they sat down on one
of the rude benches with which the room was furnished.

"Not the slightest," she answered, "except that you appear on the roll
as 'James Brown, No. 23,' no company or regiment given."

"Very good. D'ye reckon thet enny o' them in thar hev?"--pointing over
his shoulder with his thumb to the ward.

"Of course I can not tell as to that. I never hear them say anything
about you. They seem to think that you are one of the loyal East
Tennesseans that are plentiful about here."

"I've been afeered fur the last few days that some uv 'em were Rebels
in disguise, an' thet they sort o' suspicioned me. I hev seed two on
'em eyein' me mouty hard. One has a red head, an' 'tother a long black
beard."

"I can perhaps set your anxiety at rest on that score. They ARE
Southerners, but loyal ones. They were forced into the Rebel army, but
made their escape at the first opportunity. They naturally watch every
Southern-looking man with great interest, fearing that he may be an
unpleasant acquaintance."

"Desarters from the Rebel army, be they? Thet makes me so'. I thot I'd
seen 'em afore, an' this makes me sartin. They're mouty bad pills, an'
they hain't heah fur no good, but whar did I see 'em? In some Rebel camp
somewhar? No; now I remember. Ef I hain't powerfully fooled them's the
two laddie-bucks thet Harry Glen an' me gobbled up one fine mornin' an'
tuck inter Wildcat. They're bad aigs, ef ther ever war bad aigs."

"Harry Glen, did you say? What do you know of Harry Glen?" Her heart was
in her mouth.

"What do I know of harry Glen? Why, jest heaps an' more yit. He's one
o' the best men thet ever wore blue clotes. But thet's nuther heah nor
thar. Thet hain't what I brung ye out heah ter talk on."

"Go on," said Rachel, resisting her eagerness to overwhelm him with
questions concerning the one man of all the world she most desired to
learn about. "I can spare you but little time."