"whether you would care to share my dinner?"

She spoke naturally, curiously; all idea of danger was over; she was
free to follow her own instincts, which were amiable. Besides, the boy
was a gentleman.

"If it wouldn't be too much to ask--too inconvenient--" He hesitated,
hat in hand, handsome face brightening.

"No; I want you to come," she answered simply, and took his hand in
hers.

A deeper color swept his face as they descended the gentle slope
together, she amused and quietly diverted by his shyness, and thinking
how she meant to give this boyish rebel a better dinner than he had had
for many a long mile.

And she did, he aiding her with the vegetables, she mixing johnnycake
for the entire squad, slicing the bacon, and setting the coffee to boil.

Toward midday the scouting squad returned, to find their officer
shelling peas on the cabin steps, and a young girl, sleeves at her
shoulders, stirring something very vigorously in a large black
kettle--something that exhaled an odor which made the lank troopers lick
their gaunt lips in furtive hope.

The sergeant of the troop reported; the officer nodded and waved the
horsemen away to the barn, where they were presently seen squatting
patiently in a row, sniffing the aroma that floated from the cabin door.

"Did your men find the lady?" she asked, looking out at him where he
sat, busy with the peas.

"No, Miss Cynthia. But if she went west she's run into the whole
Confederate cavalry. Our business is to see she doesn't double back
here."

"Why do you follow her?"

"Ah, Miss Cynthia," he said gravely, "she is that 'Special Messenger'
who has done us more damage than a whole Yankee army corps. We've got
to stop her this time--and I reckon we will."

The girl stirred the soup, salted it, peppered it, lifted the pewter
spoon and tasted it. Presently she called for the peas.

About two o'clock that afternoon a row of half-famished Confederate
cavalrymen sat devouring the best dinner they had eaten in months. There
was potato soup, there was johnnycake, smoking hot coffee, crisp slices
of fragrant bacon, an egg apiece, and a vegetable stew. Trooper after
trooper licked fingers, spoon, and pannikin, loosening leather belts
with gratified sighs; the pickets came cantering in when the relief,
stuffed to repletion, took their places, carbine on thigh.

Flushed from the heat of the stove, arms still bared, the young hostess
sat at table with the officer in comm