it is."

"You can do as you like with it, of course," said Nat, with assumed
indifference.

"Ah, well, it will be useful to you, if what you say's true about me.
It would be a pity for any one else to get it, wouldn't it?"

"Well, I am your brother, after all," said Nat, quietly.

"Yes, so you are, Natty; and you're just the chap to be proud of it, and
wear it stuck in your steel pot. Look here, you go into the tool-shed
at the Manor, first time you're that way, and as soon as you're inside
the door, reach up your hand, and in the dark corner you'll find a
bundle of our old peacock's moultings when he dropped his tail. You
shall have 'em, Nat, and I hope I shall live to see you with 'em in your
iron cap. My! you will look fine!"

"If you wasn't such a miserable scrunched-up garden-worm of a man, I'd
baste you with my sword-belt, Samson," whispered Nat, angrily.

"Thank ye, Nat, lad. Thank ye. It's very kind of you to say so. Save
it up, lad, till I'm better. It will be pleasanter then for us both."

"Nat," said Scarlett just then.

"Yes, sir."

"Come here."

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

AN EXCITING WATCH.

Fred lay insensible for a few minutes, and when he did struggle back
into consciousness, it seemed to him that he must be still dreaming, or
else that the bewildering excitement of the civil war, with the misery,
despair, and wretchedness, was all the result of his fevered
imagination.

What did it all mean? he asked himself. Were they back at home, and had
he fallen from the pony and struck his head against a rock? or was he
over at the Hall, and was this the time when he climbed the great elm to
get the magpie's nest, and had that horrible fall?

No; it was all true--this was the war time--he was badly wounded, and
his enemy, Scarlett Markham, the young Cavalier, was bending over him in
mocking triumph at his downfall, and revenging himself for the insult he
had received in the loss of his flowing curls.

It was a cruel revenge--one which, in spite of his efforts, brought the
weak tears to his eyes, and, as he closed them tightly to hide his
emotion three or four great drops were shut out by the lids, and rolled
slowly down on either side, tickling him for the time before they were
washed away.

Then, as the time glided on, Fred opened his eyes, and looked up in
Scarlett's, as he again asked himself whether it was all a dream, the
consequence of his fevered state.

For there, kneeling in