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"I'm willing," I responded, and we all laughed. The younger horseman asked my name. "Smith," I said, with dignity, and they laughed again, their laugh growing louder when I would not smile.

"No," he said, but Ned Ferry had lately restored to him, by proxy, some lost letters, with an invitation to come and see him.

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?"

Yankees gone, completely fooled. Do not stir till day, then ride for your life. We're not thwarting Lieutenant Ferry's plan, we're only improving upon it. When you report to him don't let blame fall upon the father and son whose roof this night saves you from a bloody death. Do this for the sake of her who is risking her life to save yours. We serve one cause; be wary--be brave--be true.

Ah! where had my wits been? Yet without a suspicion that she was Charlotte Oliver one might have let the anagram go unsuspected for a lifetime. Evidently it concealed nothing from General Austin or Ned Ferry; most likely it was only the name she used in passing through the lines. At any rate I was convinced she was a good Confederate, and my heart rose.

"Good-morning," he responded, tardily and grimly. "Well, you air in a hurry."

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