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"How on earth should I know?"

Once more we were in the by-road which had brought us westward parallel with the highway. The prisoner drove. Aunt Martha sat beside him, slim, dark, black-eyed, stately, her silver-gray hair rolled high à la Pompadour. With a magnanimity rare in those bitter days she incited him to talk, first of New Orleans, where he had spent a month in camp on one of the public squares, and then of his far northern home, and of loved ones there, mother, wife and child. The nieces, too, gave a generous attention. Only I, riding beside the hind wheels, held solemnly aloof.

"If I tell you that," said the Captain, "you won't like me the least bit."

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

"Maiden passing fair, turn away thine eyes! Turn away thine eyes ere my bosom burn,

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