hout having any
personal feeling in the matter, therefore, he was disposed to do all he
could to assist his host in "avoiding the draft." What would have been
treason in New England was loyalty in Virginia.

The unfortunate subject of the Virginia militia law was unconsciously
approaching the trap which had been set for him. He had, no doubt, come to
the conclusion, by this time, that the hungry soldier boy was not a
recruiting officer, or even the corporal of a guard sent to apprehend him,
and he was returning with confidence to partake of his noonday meal. Tom,
from his perch at the top of the chimney, watched him as he ambled along
over the rough path with his eyes fixed upon the ground. There was
something rather exciting in the situation of affairs, and he soon found
himself deeply interested in the issue.

The unhappy citizen owing service to the Confederate States climbed over
the zigzag fence that enclosed his garden, and continued to approach the
rude dwelling which the law had defined to be his castle. Tom did not dare
to speak in tones loud enough to be heard by the innocent victim of the
officer's conspiracy, for they would have betrayed his presence to the
enemy. Sitting upon the top stones of the chimney, he gesticulated
violently, hoping to attract his attention; but the man did not look up,
and consequently could not see the signals.

He had approached within ten rods of the back door of the house, when Tom,
fearing his footsteps might attract the attention of the soldier, ventured
to give a low whistle. As this was not heeded, he repeated the signal when
the man was within two or three rods of the house; but even this was not
noticed, and throwing his head forward, so that the sound of his voice
should not descend the chimney, he spoke.

"Halloo!" said he.

The man suddenly stopped, and looked up. Tom made signals with his hands
for him to leave; but this mute language appeared not to be intelligible
to him.

"Consarn yer picter, what are yer doin' up thar?" said the proprietor of
the castle, in tones which seemed to Tom as loud as the roar of the cannon
at Bull Run.

"Hush! Hush!" replied Tom, gesticulating with all his might, and using all
his ingenuity to invent signs that would convey to the militiaman the idea
that he was in imminent danger.

"You be scotched!" snarled the man. "What are yer doin'? What ails yer?"

"They are after you!" added Tom, in a hoarse whisper.

The fellow most p