oor fellows some supper.
They're on a journey to Atlanta, all the way from Kentucky, to enlist. And
I'll see if I can't rake you up a couple of coats and some old shoes."

He disappeared up-stairs, and soon returned with two half-worn coats and
two pairs of old shoes, which he insisted upon presenting to the
fugitives.

"They belong to my son, who has gone to the war," he said, "but he'd be
glad to have such patriots as you use them. How did you both get so bare
of clothes?"

"We had to swim across a stream, and leave some of our things behind,"
explained Watson. He spoke but the simple truth. He was glad that he did,
for he hated to deceive a man who stood gazing upon him with such gentle,
unsuspecting eyes.

It was not long before Watson and George had gone into the kitchen, where
they found a table laden with a profusion of plain but welcome food.
Waggie, who had been given some milk, was lying fast asleep by the
hearth.

George looked about him, when he had finished his supper, and asked
himself why he could not have a week of such quiet, peaceful life as this?
Yet he knew that he was, figuratively, on the brink of a precipice. At any
moment he might be shown in his true light. But how much better he felt
since he had eaten. He was comfortable and drowsy. The minister and his
family, who had been bustling around attending to the wants of their
guests, began to grow dim in his weary eyes. Watson, who was sitting
opposite to him, looked blurred, indistinct. He was vaguely conscious that
the old gentleman was saying: "These are times that try our souls." Then
the boy sank back in his chair, sound asleep. He began to dream. He was on
the cowcatcher of an engine. Andrews was tearing along in front on a
horse, beckoning to him to come on. The engine sped on faster and faster,
but it could not catch up to the horseman. At last Andrews and the horse
faded away altogether; and the boy was swimming across the Chickamauga
River. He heard a great shout from the opposite bank--and awoke.

Watson had risen from the table; the pipe of tobacco which the minister
had given him as a sort of dessert was lying broken on the hearth. There
was a despairing look on his face. It was the look that one might expect
to see in a hunted animal at bay. Near him stood the old man, who seemed
to be the incarnation of mournful perplexity, his wife, who was no less
disturbed, and the two daughters. One of the latter, a girl with dark hair
and