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"Do you want to see him?" I gathered my horse.

A sweet color was I. "Yes, that's what I said; Cockerel. Isn't your last name Cockerel?"

I said it meant Fisher's battery hurrying to the front. Twenty miles since five that morning was a marvel, horse artillery though they were, for, as I pointed out by many signs, their animals were in ill condition. "We shall have to go round them by neighborhood roads," I said, and presently we were deeper than ever in woodland shades and sources of girlish wonderment. The humid depths showed every sort of green and gray, their trunks, bushes and boughs, bearded with hanging moss, robed with tangled vines and chapleted with mistletoe. We seemed to have got this earth quite to ourselves and very much to our liking.

"He told you?--Ah! you're only guessing," I said, and saw that I was helping her to guess more correctly.

I dilated. "Who told--did Ned Ferry tell you that story?"

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