the
group at the fire, was relating to a listening and an eager guest
another story of the almost superhuman performances of the Union scout,
Leroy, when suddenly the lad arose from the rocker and began to search
the floor with his eyes. He had had the color of youth in his cheeks,
in spite of the swarthiness of his skin, and I had admired the
combination--your light-haired man is for everything that has a touch
of the brunette--but now he had gone white.

As he stooped to search under my chair, I jumped up and drew it back
politely. "Pardon me for disturbing you," he said; "I have lost a
paper."

"Is it of importance?" I inquired, endeavoring to show an interest in
the matter.

"You would hardly think so," he replied. "It involves the safety of a
woman." I regarded him with unfeigned astonishment, and he, in turn,
looked at me with a face as full of anger and disappointment as I had
ever beheld.

"Why, you young rascal!" I exclaimed; "what do you know of me that you
should speak so? For less than nothing I'll give you a strapping and
send you to your daddy."

"You couldn't do me a greater service. He is in heaven." You may
imagine my feelings, if you can, when, as he said this, he turned
toward me a countenance from which all feeling had died out save that
of sadness. If he had plunged a knife in my vitals he could not have
hurt me worse. "Well, sir," he insisted, "proceed with your strapping."

"You are more than even with me, my lad," I said, "and I humbly
apologize for my words. But why should you be so short with one who
certainly wishes you no harm?"

"I am unable to tell you. You seem to be always smiling, while I am in
trouble: perhaps that is why I am irritable." He looked at me hard as
he resumed his seat in the rocker, and again I had the curious feeling
that I had met him somewhere before--perhaps in some sphere of former
existence. Memory, however, refused to disgorge the details, and I
could only gaze helplessly into the fire.

After a little the lad hitched his chair closer to mine, and I could
have thanked him for that. He drew on his glove and drew it off again.
"Will you shake hands with me?" he inquired. "I feel that I am all to
blame." As I took his hand in mine I could but notice how small and
soft it was.

"No, you are not all to blame," I said. "I am ill-mannered by nature."

"I never will believe it," he declared with something like a smile.
"No, it is not so."

Before I could ma