rmission
to speak to him, the census man began askin' questions,--all kinds, as
those damnable fellows do. Colonel Kent let him ramble on for a while,
then he brought him up standin'.

"'Who did you say you were, suh?'

"'The United States census-taker.'

"'Ah, a message from the enemy. Take a seat on the grass.'

"'It's only a matter of form,' said the man.

"'So I presume, and very bad form, suh,' looking at the hat still on the
man's head. 'But go on.'

"'Well, what's yo' business?' asked the agent, taking out his book and
pencil.

"'My business, suh?' said the colonel, risin' from his chair, mad clear
through,--'I've no business, suh. I am a prisoner of war waitin' to be
exchanged!' and he stomped into the house."

Here the major burst into a laugh, straightened himself up to his full
height, squeezed the keys back into his pocket, and said he must take a
look into the state-rooms on the deck to see if they were all ready for
his friends for the night.

When I turned in for the night, he was on deck again, still talking, his
hearty laugh ringing out every few moments. Only the white-whiskered man
was left. The other camp-stools were empty.

II

At early dawn the steamboat slowed down, and a scow, manned by two
bare-footed negroes with sweep oars, rounded to. In a few moments the
major, two guns, two valises, Jack, and I were safely landed on its wet
bottom, the major's bag with its precious contents stowed between his
knees.

To the left, a mile or more away, lay Crab Island, the landed estate of
our host,--a delicate, green thread on the horizon line, broken by two
knots, one evidently a large house with chimneys, and the other a clump of
trees. The larger knot proved to be the manor house that sheltered the
belongings of the major, with the wine-cellars of marvelous vintage, the
table that groaned, the folding mahogany doors that swung back for bevies
of beauties, and perhaps, for all I knew, the gray-haired, ebony butler in
the green coat. The smaller knot, Jack said, screened from public view the
little club-house belonging to his friends and himself.

As the sun rose and we neared the shore, there came into view on the near
end of the island the rickety outline of a palsied old dock, clutching
with one arm a group of piles anchored in the marsh grass, and extending
the other as if in welcome to the slow-moving scow. We accepted the
invitation, threw a line over a thumb of a pile, and in five