ad always a pretty politeness of manner.

"Adieu," I said, lifting my hat as I rode off, with a prick of the
spur, for the road was long and I had lost quite half an hour.

My elation gave way to sober thought presently. I began to think
of Louise--that quiet, frank, noble, beautiful, great-hearted girl,
who might be suffering what trouble I knew not, and all silently,
there in her prison home. A sadness grew in me, and then suddenly
I saw the shadow of great trouble. I loved them both; I knew not
which I loved the better. Yet this interview had almost committed
me to Louison.

XVII

Orders came shortly from the War Department providing a detail to
go and help man the guns of Perry at Put-in Bay. I had the honor
of leading them on the journey and turning them over to the young
Captain. I could not bear to be lying idle at the garrison. A
thought of those in captivity was with me night and day, but I
could do nothing for them. I had had a friendly talk with General
Brown. He invited and received my confidence touching the tender
solicitude I was unable to cover. I laid before him the plan of an
expedition. He smiled, puffing a cigar thoughtfully.

"Reckless folly, Bell," said he, after a moment. "You are young
and lucky. If you were flung in the broad water there with a
millstone tied to your neck, I should not be surprised to see you
turn up again. My young friend, to start off with no destination
but Canada is too much even for you. We have no men to waste.
Wait; a rusting sabre is better than a hole in the heart. There
will be good work for you in a few days, I hope."

And there was--the job of which I have spoken, that came to me
through his kind offices. We set sail in a schooner one bright
morning,--D'ri and I and thirty others,--bound for Two-Mile Creek.
Horses were waiting for us there. We mounted them, and made the
long journey overland--a ride through wood and swale on a road worn
by the wagons of the emigrant, who, even then, was pushing westward
to the fertile valleys of Ohio. It was hard travelling, but that
was the heyday of my youth, and the bird music, and the many voices
of a waning summer in field and forest, were somehow in harmony
with the great song of my heart. In the middle of the afternoon of
September 6, we came to the Bay, and pulled up at headquarters, a
two-story frame building on a high shore. There were wooded
islands in the offing, and between them we coul