ht was safe under lock and key.
She sat in a sunny place and read it page by page, and, when she had
finished, her curiosity was aroused. The clippings in the old
scrap-book were all about the adventures of a Union scout whose name
was said to be Captain Frank Leroy. The newspaper clippings that had
been preserved were queerly inconsistent. The Northern and Western
papers praised the scout very highly, and some of them said that if
there were more such men in the army the cause of the Union would
progress more rapidly; whereas the Southern papers, though paying a
high tribute to the dash and courage of the scout, were highly abusive.
He was "one of Lincoln's hirelings" and as villanous as he was bold.

The girl graduate at once jumped to the conclusion that there was a
story behind the old scrap-book, else why should it be preserved by her
father, who had been a Confederate soldier? This idea no sooner took
shape than she became insistently inquisitive. As for her father, the
very sight of the scrap-book awoke the echoes of a hundred
experiences--long and dangerous rides in the lonely night, battles,
sharp skirmishes and bitter sufferings.

The story, such as it was, took shape in my mind, and I am afraid that
the young girl had small difficulty in persuading me to tell it. Memory
brought before me the smiling features of Harry Herndon, my life-long
friend and comrade, the handsome face of Jack Bledsoe, one of our
college mates from Missouri, and the beautiful countenance of his
sister, Katherine Bledsoe. These and a hundred other faces came
crowding from the past, and the story was told almost before I knew it.

When Harry Herndon and I went to the wars we were somewhat belated. The
excitement of '61 found us at college, where we had orders to remain
until we had finished the course, and the orders came from one whom we
had never dared to disobey--Harry's grandmother. And then, when we were
ready to go, she cut in ahead of our plans and sent us to the West with
letters to General Dabney Maury, whom she had known when he was a boy
and later when he was a young officer in the regular army.

We were not ill-equipped for two raw youngsters; we had Whistling Jim,
the negro, three fine horses, and more money than I had ever seen
before. We went to General Maury and were most courteously received.
The Virginia Herndons--Harry belonged to the Maryland branch--were
related to him--and he liked the name. We caught the barest