to catch any of the words that passed
between them, she was somewhat reassured when she looked into her son's
beaming face.

"Who are they?" she asked calmly. "Surely they do not act like the
robbers, who----"

"They are Yankees from the fleet, and want to see me about something,"
was the excited reply. "Will you take this lamp into the parlor while I
admit them?"

Certainly his mother would do that; but what could the Yankees want of
Marcy at that time of night, and how did they hear of him, in the first
place, and find out where he lived?

"Doctor Patten's boy, Jonas, told them, most likely; but when and where
they picked him up beats me. I can't imagine what they want, either; but
I will open the door for them as readily as I would for Jack," replied
Marcy; and, as his mother turned into the parlor with the lamp, he went
down the hall to the front door.

"Are you Marcy Gray, the pilot?" inquired Mr. Watkins, as the two
saluted each other, instead of shaking hands.

"Caesar's ghost!" was the ejaculation that trembled on the boy's lips;
and then he wondered if he was to be arrested for acting as pilot for
Captain Beardsley's privateer and blockade runner.

"Because, if you are, you are the man I want to see," continued the
officer.

"Will you come in?" answered Marcy, who thought it best to hold his
peace until he had received some insight into the nature of the business
that had brought his visitor there.

The latter complied, and, when he entered the parlor, was rather taken
aback to find a dignified lady there. He saluted her courteously, and,
without intending to do so, added to her fears at the same time that he
explained his errand, by saying:

"I beg a thousand pardons, madam, for intruding upon your privacy at
this unseemly hour; but the truth is, our fleet has gone as far toward
the enemy as it can go without the aid of pilots to direct its
movements. The name of Marcy Gray has been mentioned to my commander,
Captain Benton, and I am here to secure his services."

"Oh, sir!" cried Mrs. Gray, clasping her hands appealingly. "Would you
cruelly rob me of the only son I have left, and take him into battle? He
has already been sadly injured during this terrible war."

The fact that Marcy carried one of his arms in a sling had not escaped
the notice of the officer, and now he looked at the boy rather sharply.
There was but one conclusion to be drawn, he told himself: If Marcy got
that wounded arm in