ere was a sixth guard in the person of Muggins, who kept his
master company and behaved with the greatest propriety and silence.
Sylvanus and Timotheus, Rufus and Ben had a separate guard-house of
their own in the kitchen, where Mrs. Carmichael, who could not sleep
because of her apprehensions of evil to some unknown defender, furnished
them with bread and cheese and innocuous hot elderberry wine and cold
cider. After partaking plentifully of the refreshments, Sylvanus and Ben
lit their pipes, and the latter communicated to the company the story of
his woes in the case of Serlizer. Sylvanus related his adventure in
capturing Tryphosa, which caused Timotheus to move into a corner with
Rufus and declare solemnly and in a low tone, that "Ef Sylvanus warn't
my brother and older'n me, and the next thing t' engaged to Trypheeny,
I'd be shaved an' shampooed ef I wouldn't bust his old cocoanut open."
Rufus, however, replied that girls had no business to be about in war
times, unless it was to nurse the sick and wounded, which was only done
in hospitals, thus justifying Sylvanus' action as a pure matter of
military duty, and reconciling Timotheus to the slight put upon his lady
love.

The Squire and Coristine were alone in the guard-room, save when Mrs.
Carmichael put her head in to ask after the welfare of the party,
especially of the older members.

"Grandfather knows campaigning and can take care of himself," the Squire
answered; "and the Captain's used to out-door life; but there's the
minister now, puir man! Weel, weel, Marjorie, when I gang the roonds,
I'll see if he needs onything."

Then the pair chatted away, chiefly about the Grinstun man, whom
Carruthers came to regard in the light of a spy. Though surrounded on
every side by suspicious circumstances, there was nothing definite
against him, the nearest evidence to a conviction being the geological
or mineralogical expressions which the unguarded dilapidated farmer on
the way to the Beaver River had coupled with his name, and his own
admissions to the spurious Miss Du Plessis.

"Maister Coristine," said the Squire, "gin I thocht yon deevil, seein'
it's Monday mornin' the noo, was at the foondation o' this ploy, I'd
think naething o' spendin' five thoosand to pit an end til's tricks."

"All right, Squire; I think I'll go into criminal law, and work it up
for you."

"What's yon? I maun gang out, for I hear Mr. Wilkinson calling me."

The lawyer accompanied him to