ing, missus. I
had dat feller covered wid dis hoss-pistol ob mine. If he had tried to
slew Jack dat would hab been de end of the rascal, suah pop!"

"Good for you, Ben! Continue to look out for Jack, and I will reward you
handsomely," concluded Mrs. Ruthven, and returned to the house.

CHAPTER XVI.

COLONEL STANTON'S VISIT.

The Federal regiment went into camp up the road, but a short distance
from the Ruthven home. The coming of the soldiers filled the whole
neighborhood with alarm, but it was soon evident that Colonel Stanton
was a strict disciplinarian and did not countenance any pilfering, and
then the inhabitants became more quiet. In the meanwhile the Confederate
troops had departed for parts unknown. But another battle was not far
off.

Attached to Colonel Stanton's regiment was a young man named Harry
Powell, a surgeon, who was a nephew to Mrs. Ruthven, although the two
had not seen each other for years. Powell was a fine fellow, and well
liked by all who knew him, the single exception to the case being St.
John Ruthven, who was too much of a sneak to admire anybody so
free-hearted and manly.

Harry Powell had drifted to the North several years before, and
established a practice in Philadelphia. He was thoroughly opposed to
slavery, and when the war broke out lost no time in joining the Federal
troops, much to the horror of his two aunts and his cousin Marion. As
for St. John, that spendthrift said it was "just like Harry, who had no
head on his shoulders, anyway."

On the day following the arrival of the Federal troops Old Ben was
making his way to his cabin for some things, when he ran across Colonel
Stanton on his way to the Ruthven mansion. The colonel was accompanied
by Harry Powell, but the young surgeon now wore a heavy mustache, and
for the moment the old colored man did not recognize him.

"See here, my man. I want to talk to you," began Colonel Stanton, as he
held up his hand for Ben to halt.

"Yes, sah," and Old Ben touched his hat respectfully.

"Did I understand that this is the plantation of Mrs. Alice Ruthven?"

"Yes, sah."

"Why, it's Old Ben!" cried Harry Powell, striding forward. "Don't you
remember me, you old rascal?" and he slapped the colored man on the
back.

Old Ben stared in astonishment for a moment, and then his ebony face
broke out into a broad smile.

"Bless my soul, if it aint Massah Harry Powell!"

"Of course it is, Ben."

"Yo' is so changed I didn't k