ening.

No; he felt that would be only to court seizure, for his position would
be so disadvantageous that he could not defend himself if he were
seized. Besides, he would be betraying his father into the enemies'
hands.

In spite of his trouble and anxiety, a smile came upon his lip, as he
thought of a plan by which he might make the watcher or watchers
discover their presence. He believed thoroughly that he had not so far
been heard, and, under that impression, he took hold of one of the
hazels above his head, and, trusting to old forest recollections in the
days when he had hunted rabbits with Fred Forrester, he shook the bough
above him so as to make a sharp rustling noise, and uttered with his
compressed lips a sharp screeching sound such as is made by the little
white-tailed furry denizen of the wood when trapped or chased by a
stoat.

"That will bring him to see," thought Scarlett, as he felt that such a
sound would suggest to a foraging soldier a capital addition to his
camp-fire supper.

But there was not a sound in reply, and, beginning to doubt his belief
that there was a sentry watching, he uttered the shrill squeal again.
Then his heart gave a bound, for there was a movement close at hand, as
of some one trying to pass through the bushes, but it was not continued;
and, while the lad was wondering, there came a low groan.

"No sentinel! Some poor wounded fellow who has crept into the old
wilderness for safety," thought Scarlett.

"But will it be an enemy?" he asked himself.

"No; one of ours," his heart replied. "An enemy would have called for
help."

"Ah, if I was only as I used to be!" came in a low-muttering tone. "Is
he in agin?"

"Nat!" cried Scarlett, the word starting from his lips involuntarily,
and without his seeming to have the power to stay it.

"Eh!" came from close by, "who called? Master Scar, that you?"

"Yes, yes," cried Scarlett; and, leaping up, he caught at a bough, which
snapped in two, and he dropped down again. But his next attempt was
more successful, for he drew himself out, and the next minute was
kneeling by his old follower, as Nat lay nearly hidden among the
undergrowth.

"I say, don't play tricks, sir," said Nat, feebly. "I aren't dreaming,
are I?"

"Dreaming, Nat?"

"I mean, I've been all in a squabble, with things mixed up in my head,
and people talking to me, and rabbits squealing, and Master Scar
shouting `Nat,' I aren't asleep now, are I?"

"As