can't stay in
Nashville an other day. I remember you. I've heard you tell that story
of a sick son in the hospital before. I remember all the details. You
haven't changed one. You're a smuggler, and I believe a spy. You've got
mule-loads of quinine somewhere in hiding, and may be gun-caps and other
munitions of war. If you know what's good for you, you'll take the next
train north, and never stop until you are on the other side of the Ohio
River. If you are in town to-morrow morning, I'll put you to work on the
fortifications, and keep you there till the end of the war. Get out of
my office at once."

Others were turned away with similar brusqueness, until the Deacon was
in despair; but the though of Si on a bed of pain nerved him, and he
kept his place in the line that was pushing toward the Provost's desk.

Suddenly the Provost looked over those in front of him, and fixing his
eye on the Deacon, called out:

"Well, my friend, come up here. What can I do for you?"

The Deacon was astonished, but in obedience to a gesture from the
Provost, left the line, and came up.

"What's your name? Where are you from? What are you doing down here?
What do you want?" inquired the Provost, scanning him critically.

The Deacon's eyes met his boldly, and he answered the questions
categorically.

"Well, Mr. Klegg, you shall have a pass at once, and I sincerely hope
that you will find your son recovering. You probably do not remember
me, but I have seen you before, when I was on the circuit in Indiana.
My clerk there is writing out a pass for you. You will have to take
the oath of allegiance, and sign the paper, which I suppose you have no
objection to doing."

"None in the world," answered the Deacon, surprised at the unexpected
turn of events. "I'll be only too glad. I was gittin' very scared about
my pass."

"O, I have hard work here," said the Provost smiling, "in separating the
sheep from the goats, but I'm now getting to know the goats tolerably
well. There's you're pass, Deacon. A pleasant journey, and a happy
termination to it."

The Deacon took out his long calf-skin wallet from his breast, put the
precious pass in it, carefully strapped it up again and replaced it, and
walked out of the office toward the depot.

He had gone but a few steps from the building when he saw the man who
had been ordered out of the city by the Provost, and who seemed to be
on the lookout for the Deacon. He came up, greeted the Deacon ef