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

I shook my head and we moved toward the tents. This was worse than the dream; the rat had not seen the cockerel, but the cockerel had observed the rat--dropping into the barrel: the cockerel, yes, and not the cockerel alone, for I saw that Gholson was associating him with her of the curtained wagon. By now they were side and side. I asked if Ferry came often to headquarters. "Yes, quite as often as he's any business to." "Ah, ha!" thought I, and presently said I had heard he was a great favorite.

"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

"Yes, a beautiful story is a thing Ned Ferry loves with a positive passion."

"I've been awake for forty-eight hours, Major. But--oh, I'm not sleepy."

Camille, the youngest, whispered to her, whereupon she beckoned. "Oh!--oh, do come here!--Mr. Smith, I am the sister of Major Harper. You're from New Orleans? Does your mother live in Apollo Street?"

He smiled. "No, but I can put some there if you want it."

I surrender, he said, with amiable ease.

Was all the sound we heard.'

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