ffy. The seasoned troops dropped their arms and fled.
The four-year-old became lost or entangled in a thick growth of jimson
weed, seeing which, Uncle Plato cried out in terrible voice, "Ketch um
dar! Fetch um here!"

Then and there ensued a wild scene of demoralisation and anarchy; loud
shrieks and screams filled the air; the dogs barked, the hens cackled,
and the neighbours began to put their heads out of the windows. Mrs.
Absalom, who had charge of the Dorrington household, and who had raised
Nan from a baby, came to the door--the defeat of the troops occurred
right at Nan's own home--crying, "My goodness gracious! has the yeth
caved in?" Then, seeing the waggon crosswise the road, and mistaking
Nan's shrieks of laughter for cries of pain, she bolted from the house
with a white face.

Mrs. Absalom's reactions from her daily alarms about Nan usually
resulted in bringing her into open and direct war with everybody in
sight or hearing, except the child; but on this occasion, her fright had
been so serious that when Nan, somewhat sobered, ran to her the good
woman was shaking.

"Why, Nonny!" cried Nan, hugging her, "you are all trembling."

"No wonder," said Mrs. Absalom in a subdued voice; "I saw you under them
waggon wheels as plain as I ever saw anything in my life. I'm gittin'
old, I reckon."

And yet there were some people who wondered how Nan could endure such a
foster-mother as Mrs. Absalom.

But the complete rout of Nan's army made no change in the general
complexion of affairs. The Shady Dale Scouts continued to perfect
themselves in the tactics of war, and after awhile, when the great
controversy began to warm up--the children paid no attention to the
passage of time--the company went into camp. This was a great hour for
the youngsters. Here at last was something real and tangible. The
marching and the countermarching through the streets and in the old
field were very well in their way, but Nan and Gabriel and the rest had
grown used to these man[oe]uvres, and they longed for something new.
This was furnished by the camp, with its white tents, and the grim
sentinels pacing up and down with fixed bayonets. No one, not even an
officer, could pass the sentinels without giving the password, or
calling for the officer of the guard.

All this, from the children's point of view, was genuine war; but to the
members of the company it was a veritable picnic. The citizens of the
town, especially the ladies, sent