his old
principal. "I'll come down," he said, "and let you in."

The conference was a long one, and it ended in both going into the
street, and making their way to Talbot's stable, two or three blocks
distant. There the coachman was roused, and there Talbot gave Mr.
Belcher the privilege of sleeping until he was wanted.

Mr. Talbot had assured Mr. Belcher that he would not be safe in his
house, that the whole town was alive with rumors about him, and that
while some believed he had escaped and was on his way to Europe, others
felt certain that he had not left the city.

Mr. Belcher had been a railroad man, and Mr. Talbot was sure that the
railroad men would help him. He would secure a special car at his own
cost, on a train that would leave on the following night. He would see
that the train should stop before crossing Harlem Bridge. At that moment
the General must be there. Mr. Talbot would send him up, to sit in his
cab until the train should stop, and then to take the last car, which
should be locked after him; and he could go through in it without
observation.

A breakfast was smuggled into the stable early, where Mr. Belcher lay
concealed, of which he ate greedily. Then he was locked into the room,
where he slept all day. At eight o'clock in the evening, a cab stood in
the stable, ready to issue forth on the opening of the doors. Mr.
Belcher took his seat in it, in the darkness, and then the vehicle was
rapidly driven to Harlem. After ten minutes of waiting, the dazzling
head-light of a great train, crawling out of the city, showed down the
Avenue. He unlatched the door of his cab, took his satchel in his hand,
and, as the last car on the train came up to him, he leaped out, mounted
the platform, and vanished in the car, closing the door behind him. "All
right!" was shouted from the rear; the conductor swung his lantern, and
the train thundered over the bridge and went roaring off into the night.

The General had escaped. All night he traveled on, and, some time during
the forenoon, his car was shunted from the Trunk line upon the branch
that led toward Sevenoaks. It was nearly sunset when he reached the
terminus. The railroad sympathy had helped and shielded him thus far,
but the railroad ended there, and its sympathy and help were cut off
short with the last rail.

Mr. Belcher sent for the keeper of a public stable whom he knew, and
with whom he had always been in sympathy, through the love of
horse-flesh