separate them. When Lewie rejoined his companion his mare tossed
her mane angrily at the turn affairs had taken. Little shivers of
dissatisfaction ran over her. She continued to look back and neigh, almost
viciously, and one of the horses in old Squire's wagon responded in like
manner.

Back again to the bluegrass,
Horse and rider too;
Back again to the old haunts,
Comrades tried and true.
Forgot, the weary marches;
Forgot, the hunger and cold.
Back again to the bluegrass,
And hearts whose worth is gold.

As old Squire and the children moved on a squad of soldiers mounted the
crest of the hill, then halted. They met right there a man in citizen's
clothes, on horseback, with a pair of fat saddle-bags swung across the
pommel of his saddle. The men in gray surrounded him instantly; one seized
hold of his bridle-rein, another made threatening demonstrations toward
his saddle-bags.

"O, Uncle Squire," cried Roberta, "that's Mr. Shanks, that's Sallie's dear
grandpapa! O, my heart just trembles for him. I hope they won't do any
thing to him."

"Yes, dat's him. He dun kotch up wid at las'. He gwiner be paid back fur
all hees meanness at las'."

"Where are you going?" asked he who held the bridle-rein.

"Home, to my family."

"What have you got in your saddle-bags?" was next asked.

"Nothing but a calico dress for my wife."

"Well, hand it out; I know a 'print' when I see it," responded he who had
made the threatening demonstrations towards the saddle-bags--was even then
diving in them.

"O, Uncle Squire," cried Roberta, "won't they give the calico dress back
to him? Poor Mrs. Shanks needs it awfully. The one she has on is all
faded, and her elbows are out."

"If he's gotter calicer dress en thar fur her," grunted old Squire,
"'twill be de fus'. I heered her say he never give her de rappens ob her
finger, en dat she wuden min' hees whippen' her ef hee'd unly previde fur
her."

He who was diving in Mr. Shanks' saddle-bags, drew thence a long slip of
white paper with something printed on it in black letters. He cleared his
throat, and read aloud the following:

"Fellow-citizens, I took up arms for my country in the War of 1812,
and were it not for the infirmities of age, would be again in the
saddle, to drive that notorious horse-thief and scoundrel, John
Morgan, from the State."

"You would, hey?" said the soldier. "Well, wait here a little, and see
wh