e scanty supply of food which he had purchased from Mrs.
Burnap was now produced, and he made an economical breakfast. Finding a
secluded place, he stretched himself upon the ground, and went to sleep.
Though he slept till the sun had passed the meridian, the day was a very
long one.

When it was fairly dark, he resolved to attempt the passage of the Gap,
for he was so tired of inaction that peril and hardship seemed preferable
to doing nothing. Returning to the road, he pursued his way with due
diligence through the narrowing defile of the mountains, till he suddenly
came upon a sentinel, who challenged him. Before he started from his
hiding place, Tom had carefully loaded the revolver which he had taken
from the rebel soldier; and, as he walked along, he carried the weapon in
his hand, ready for any emergency that might require its use.

The guard questioned him, and Tom replied that he had fought in the battle
down below, and had a furlough to go home and see his father, who was very
sick.

"Where's your furlough?" demanded the soldier.

"In my pocket."

"Let me see it."

"Here it is," replied Tom, producing an old letter which he happened to
have in his pocket.

The sentinel took the paper, unfolded it, and turned it over two or three
times. It was too dark for him to read it if he had been able to do so,
for all the rebel soldiers are not gifted in this way.

"I reckon this won't do," he added, after patiently considering the
matter. "Just you tote this paper up to the corporal thar, and if he says
it's all right, you kin go on."

"But I can't stop to do all that. Here's my pass, and I want to go on. My
father may die before I get home."

"What regiment do you b'long to?" asked the guard, who evidently did not
wish to disoblige a fellow-soldier unnecessarily.

"The Second Virginia," replied Tom, at a venture.

"Where does your father live?" continued the sentinel.

"Just beyond the Gap, if he's living at all."

"What town?"

Tom was nonplussed, for he did not know the name of a single place on the
route before him; and, of course, he did not dare to answer the question.

"About five or six miles from here," he answered.

"Is it Salem or White Plains?" demanded the soldier, whose cunning was
inferior to his honesty.

"White Plains," added Tom, promptly accepting the suggestion.

"What's the matter with your father?"

"I don't know; he was taken suddenly."

"Pears like your uniform ain't ex