tly--

"I am sorry I have nothing better to offer you."

Scarlett turned upon him sharply, with a flash of the eye, as if about
to speak; but he turned away again, and sat looking straight before him.

There was a long silence then, during which Fred thought how hard it was
for his old friend to be dragged there a prisoner, and he said softly--

"I was only doing my duty, Scar. I was sent out to take the party seen
from our outposts."

"Have the goodness to keep your pity for those who need it, crop-ear,"
said Scarlett, scornfully; "and recollect that I am, though a prisoner,
one of his Majesty's officers, one who holds no converse with rebels."

Fred's cheeks flushed again, and his brow wrinkled.

"Very well," he said angrily. "We are fighting on opposite sides, but I
did not know that we need insult each other when we met."

As he spoke he left the tent, and Scarlett winced, and his eyes
softened.

"Poor old Fred!" he said below his breath; "and I used to think he was
like a brother."

It was a glorious evening as Fred Forrester strolled away from the tent,
stopping to speak to one of the sentries about the prisoner in the
little tent, though he felt that he need hardly take any precaution, for
Scarlett was not likely to try to escape and leave his men behind.

"Wonder whether we shall ever be friends again," he thought, "and be
back at the old places as before. This terrible fighting cannot always
go on. What's that?"

A great deal of shouting and laughter in the centre of a little crowd of
soldiers took his attention, and one of the voices sounding familiar, he
walked slowly toward the group, hardly caring in which direction he went
so that it was away from his tent.

"What are they doing?" he asked of one of the men.

"Don't quite know, sir. Teasing one of the prisoners, I think."

Feeling that his father would be angry if the prisoners were annoyed in
any way, he walked sharply to the throng, and, as he reached it, he
heard a familiar voice say--

"Now, that's what I call behaving like a brother should, gentlemen. He
goes away into bad company and disgraces his name, lets his hair grow
ragged and greasy and long, and comes here a prisoner with a nasty dirty
face, so what have I done? I give him my supper because he was hungry,
and he ate it all, and called me a crop-eared rebel for my pains. So
after that I washed his face for him and cut his hair, and made him look
decent, but I didn't