ngs in this old belt by my side (pointing to his
sword)--and that I captured from the enemy at Blackstock's. I was hoping
I mought find John Ramsay at home--I have need of him as a recruit."

"Ah, Mr. Robinson, John has a heavy life of it over there with Sumpter.
The boy is often without his natural rest, or a meal's victuals; and the
general thinks so much of him, that he can't spare him to come home. I
hav'n't the heart to complain, as long as John's service is of any use,
but it does seem, Mr. Robinson, like needless tempting of the mercies of
providence. We thought that he might have been here to-day; yet I am
glad he didn't come--for he would have been certain to get into trouble.
Who should come in, this morning, just after my husband had cleverly got
away on his horse, but a young cock-a-whoop ensign, that belongs to
Ninety-Six, and four great Scotchmen with him, all in red coats; they
had been out thieving, I warrant, and were now going home again. And who
but they! Here they were, swaggering all about my house--and calling for
this--and calling for that--as if they owned the fee-simple of
everything on the plantation. And it made my blood rise, Mr. Horse Shoe,
to see them run out in the yard, and catch up my chickens and ducks, and
kill as many as they could string about them--and I not daring to say a
word: though I did give them a piece of my mind, too."

"Who is at home with you?" inquired the sergeant eagerly.

"Nobody but my youngest boy, Andrew," answered the dame. "And then, the
filthy, toping rioters--" she continued, exalting her voice.

"What arms have you in the house?" asked Robinson, without heeding the
dame's rising anger.

"We have a rifle, and a horseman's pistol that belongs to John.--They
must call for drink, too, and turn my house, of a Sunday morning, into a
tavern."

"They took the route towards Ninety-Six, you said, Mistress Ramsay?"

"Yes,--they went straight forward upon the road. But, look you, Mr.
Horse Shoe, you're not thinking of going after them?"

"Isn't there an old field, about a mile from this, on that road?"
inquired the sergeant, still intent upon his own thoughts.

"There is," replied the dame; "with the old school-house upon it."

"A lop-sided, rickety log-cabin in the middle of the field. Am I right,
good woman?"

"Yes."

"And nobody lives in it? It has no door to it?"

"There ha'n't been anybody in it these seven years."

"I know the place very well," said