s failing. He heard the men in the boat say,
"We are fooled, it is only an empty dug-out."

How hard it was to climb the bank! He could not stand, he was so
chilled. Once he rose to his feet, but tumbled like a log to the ground.
He wanted to go to sleep, but he knew it would be his last sleep if he
yielded. He drained the water from his boots, rubbed his legs, thrashed
his hands, and then went reeling and blundering in the darkness over
fallen trees. What a wearisome, cheerless night it was! How he longed
for a fire,--a cup of warm coffee,--a comfortable bed! He thought of his
own bed in the little old house at New Hope, and wished that he might
lie there once more, and snuggle down beneath the warm comforters. His
clothes were frozen, and notwithstanding he beat his hands till the
blood dripped from his fingers, he could get up no warmth. "Halt! Who
comes there?" was the sharp challenge which startled him from his
dreaming. He was close upon a picket. He turned in an instant, and began
to run. He heard footsteps following. The thought that he was pursued
roused all his energies. The footsteps came nearer. Putting forth all
his strength, holding his breath, Paul went on, stumbling, rising again,
leaping, hearing the footsteps of his pursuer coming nearer; suddenly he
came to a deep, narrow creek. He did not hesitate an instant, but
plunged in, swam to the other bank, gained the solid ground, and dropped
behind a tree just as his pursuer reached the creek. The Rebel stopped
and listened, but Paul remained perfectly still, hardly daring to
breathe, till he heard the fellow go back muttering to himself and
cursing the creek. The running had warmed Paul, but he was exhausted and
drenched once more. Daybreak came, and he did not dare to travel; so,
finding some stacks of corn in a field, he tore one of them open, made
a bed inside, drew the bundles over him, shivered awhile, and then
dropped asleep.

He awoke suddenly to find his house tumbling to pieces,--torn down by
Rebel soldiers.

"Hello! What's here? Who be ye? What are ye up to?" said a sergeant,
startled to find a man under the bundles. "Deserter, eh? or a spy, I
reckon," said the fellow, holding a pistol to Paul's head.

"Better put up your shooting-irons," said Paul coolly.

"Give an account of yourself, how ye came here, _whar_ ye have been, and
_whar_ ye gwine."

Paul noticed that he said _whar_ for where, and replied, "I am a scout,
and have been down by