ad been cut from it were piled around the circumference,
to serve the double purpose of wind-break and breastwork. There were no
horses or mules among the refugees to make a trail through the woods
that could be followed by the Home Guards and soldiers, and no dogs to
attract their attention by their baying; but there were canoes and boats
in plenty, and, except when in use, they were concealed in the bushes,
so that they could not be seen from the mainland. There were several
snug lean-tos in the camp, to which the refugees retreated in stormy
weather; but, when the elements were friendly, they preferred to wrap
themselves in their blankets, and sleep under the trees. When the
newcomer opened his eyes on this particular morning, the first object
they rested on was the bearded face of Ben Hawkins, the paroled
prisoner. He was lying under the same tree, and had been waiting half an
hour for Marcy to wake up.

"I reckon it does you good to sleep in the open air," were the first
words he spoke.

"Want of sleep is something that never troubles me," was the reply.
"Were you out with the Home Guards last night? And how did they treat my
mother after they got into the house?"

"Didn't I say that the first one amongst 'em who looked cross-ways at
her, or said anything out of the way, would have to answer to me for
it?" demanded Hawkins. "I said that much to 'em before we went into your
yard; and well, them Home Guards know me."

"I assure you that I shall not forget it," said Marcy gratefully. "I
hope you did not say or do anything to add to their suspicions. You know
you told me they were afraid to trust you. And why did you come here
instead of going home?"

"I don't care a cent if they distrust me now more'n they did before,"
answered Hawkins. "I'm watching 'em, and they'll have to get up in the
morning to get the start of me. And I come to camp to see if you was
here, and find out if it was that little nigger's yelling that warned
you."

"That was just it," replied Marcy. "If Beardsley hadn't caught him, he
would surely have caught me. What did Beardsley have to say for
himself?"

"He was purty bad hurt, I tell you; and we had to hold him in the
hoss-trough for as much as a minute before he came to. He's bound to
kill that nigger. He didn't see him have no club in his hand when he
ketched him."

"Julius never struck him with a club," exclaimed Marcy. "He gave him a
butt under the ear."

The Confederate uttered