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

"Read the address on your despatch," said Gholson, resuming his pen.

"I--I believe it yet! You are Charlotte Oliver!"

Our intercourse became more amiable and the fellow dragged in his advice that I spend the rest of the night at the house of Mr. Oliver. His acquaintance with that gentleman seemed to grow while we talked, and broke into bloom like a magician's rosebush. He described him as a kind old bird who made hospitality to strangers his meat and drink. A conjecture darted into my mind. "Why, yes! that is his married son, is he not, yonder in the cabin; the one with the fair hair?"

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