e miles by the road along the creek," said
this Southern "Uncle Sam."

"Do you know if he's living at his place now?"

"He was there three days ago, whan I driv over ta sell him some shotes,"
returned "Uncle Sam." "Reckon he must be there still."

"Humph!" thought Watson; "this fellow hasn't heard anything about the
Peyton _fracas_. I'll lose my sight once again."

He clutched George's hand in a helpless fashion, and poured forth a tale
of woe. He was blind and poor, he said; he and his nephew (meaning George)
were in need of food and shelter.

"I'll sing for you," said George.

"Tarnation pumpkins," cried Uncle Sam; "I hate squalin'. But come in. I
never shut my door on anybody."

He opened the door the whole way. The two Northerners and the dog walked
into the dazzling light made by a great wood-fire--and confronted five
Confederate soldiers and an officer who were toasting their feet at the
hearth! They all glanced at the newcomers, who dearly regretted, when too
late, that they had entered. The officer stared first at Watson and then
at George with the air of a man who is searching for some one. Uncle Sam
introduced them to the party in a manner more vigorous than polite.

"Here's a couple o' beggars," he said. "Ma, get 'em somethin' to eat!"

"Ma," who was his wife, came bustling out of the second room, or kitchen,
of the cabin. She was red in the face, and of generous proportions.

"Look here, pop," she cried, "do you expect me to cook for a hotel? I've
just been feedin' these soldiers, and now you want me to get victuals for
beggars."

When the plump hostess saw the blind man, the boy and the dog, her face
softened. She went back to the kitchen, and soon returned with some coarse
but highly acceptable food, which was gratefully eaten by George and
Watson.

"Do you two tramp through the country together?" asked the officer. He was
addressed by his men as Captain Harris. Every line and feature of his
clean-shaven face denoted shrewdness.

"Yes," answered Watson. "My nephew sings--the dog has some tricks--we make
a little money--even in war time." He would put the best face possible on
this trying situation.

"You have no home?" went on the officer, in a sympathetic voice.

"None."

"Where did you come from before you took to begging?"

Watson hesitated for a second. Then he said: "Lynchburg, Virginia." It was
the only place he could think of at that moment, and it seemed far enough
off to be sa