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Her eyes danced, her brows arched. "Haven't you got"--she hid her smile with an embroidered handkerchief--"haven't you got your second figure upside down?" I glared, but with one look of hurt sisterliness she melted me. Then, pensive just long enough to say, "I was nineteen once," she shot me a sidelong glance so roguish that I was dumb with indignation and tried to find my mustache, forgetting I had shaved it off to stimulate it. She smiled in sweet propitiation and then came gravely to business. "Have you come from beyond the pickets?"

"Suppose it wasn't either."

"I knew it! I knew it was her! Ah, you rogue, you know it was her!"

"And a suit of unie-fawm!" called Cécile, with her Creole accent.

"Deserters, I don't doubt!" was my comment to the ladies. Tongue revenge is poor, but it is something.

"Guess I'm the first Yankee y' ever caught, ain't I?" His smile was superior, but congratulatory.

"Smith," said the Colonel, and then smoked and smiled again till my brow beaded,--"tired?"

"That's a lie," he pleasantly remarked, and lay back, enjoying my silent wrath. "Send him, General," he added, "he's your man."

Rills of perspiration tickled my back like flies. "Can't one man do the work?"

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