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"And a suit of unie-fawm!" called Cécile, with her Creole accent.

"Poor boy!" said the aunt. "It's the first line you've had for months. Your sweet mother wrote, but her letters were all intercepted, and the last time she was warned that next time she'd be dealt with according to military usage! I'm glad we could give you this one at once. We can't give you the uniform, for we--why, girls, what--why, what nonsense!"

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

"But, o-oh! sir!" exclaimed the trio, when Miss Harper waved them to forbear. There was yet some daylight left as we trundled into a broad highroad and turned northward. We passed a picket guard and then a whole regiment of cavalry going into camp. They scrambled to the sides of the road and stormed us with questions, chaffing us cruelly when I remained silent. "Lawd! look a' this-yeh Yank a-bringin' in ow desertehs!" "Hey, you big Yank, you jest let that po' little conscrip' go!"

"Yes,"--she put away gaiety--"your orders are plain; and they're as cruel as they are plain!"

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

"General Austin believes it is. You're being used to bait a trap, Richard."

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