amp, tramp of her steed she thought was as loud as
thunder, and felt sure that thus she would be betrayed. The agitation
of the underbrush caused by the wind seemed to her to denote the
presence of a concealed enemy. She momentarily expected a "Yank" to
step from behind a tree and seize her bridle. As she rushed along,
hanging branches (which at another time she would have stooped to
avoid) severely scratched her face and dishevelled her hair; but never
heeding, she urged on old Whitey until he really seemed to become
inspired with the spirit of the occasion, to regain his youthful fire,
and so dashed on until at length Sally drew rein at the bars of the
horse-lot, where the objects of her solicitude were quietly grazing,
with the exception of Green Persimmon, who seemed to be playing a
series of undignified capers for the amusement of her elders. To catch
these was a work of time: Sally looked on in an agony of impatience.
But, fortunately, a neighbor rode up just then with the news that for
some unknown reason the Federal soldiers had, after halting awhile
just beyond the forks of the road, marched back to the river and were
recrossing. With the usual inconsistency of her sex, Sally now began
to cry, trembling so violently that she was fain to dismount, and
submit to be _coddled_ and petted awhile by the old servants. She
declared that she never could repass those dreadful woods, but later,
a sense of duty overcame her nervousness, and (the family having
returned), escorted by her cousins and followed by a faithful servant,
she returned to her anxious friends, who in one breath scolded her for
having dared so great risks and in the next praised her courage and
devotion.

The visit of the raiders was, alas! not long delayed, but its
attendant horrors may not here be described. The terrible story may,
perhaps, be told at another time,--for the present, _adieu_.

CHAPTER VI.

The following story, originally written by me for the _Southern
Bivouac_, is strictly true. The successful forager was once a patient
of mine, and is well known to me. I also know that he perpetrated the
joke as described. The article is intended to appear as if written by
a soldier's son.

HIGH PRICE FOR NEEDLES AND THREAD.

By Walter.

My father was once a private soldier in the Confederate army, and he
often tells us interesting stories of the war. One morning, just as he
was going down town, mother sent me to ask him to change