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"Who?" I cried. "What! You don't mean to say--was that Lieutenant Ferry?"

The General looked at me between puffs of his cigar. "I hear you've ridden over fifty miles to-day."

"I'm most afraid," he said, abstractedly, as he read my detail, which Gholson brought in. "Here,"--he handed it to me--"and here, here's the despatch too."

I attempted an evasion. "Oh--a blanket on the ground--face covered up in it from the mosquitos--is really--"

So! I honestly wished myself back in my old rags, until I reflected that my handsome mount was enough to get me all the damage these wretches could offer. Still I thought it safest to show an overbearing frown.

Thence he pointed out a distant sycamore looming high against the soft dawn. There was the fence-corner at which the bridle-path left the road. He icily declined pay for my lodging. "We never charge a Confederate soldier for anything; that's not our way."

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