ely answered by a shot from a distant
hill. Still holding his game in his left hand, the Deacon pulled the $5
bill out of his pocket with his right, walked up to the porch, laid it
at the woman's feet and put a stone on it.

"There's full pay for your dumbed old dunghills, you cantankerous
rebel," said he, as he disappeared into the darkness. "Go into the
house and pray that the Lord may soften your heart, which is harder than
Pharaoh's, until you have some Christian grace."

When he reached the road he could hear the sound of hoofs galloping
toward the house. He smiled grimly, but kept under the shadow of the
trees until he reached the main road leading to Chattanooga, where he
was lucky enough to find a train making its slow progress toward the
town, and kept with it until he was within our lines.

CHAPTER XX. STEWED CHICKEN

THE DEACON'S CULINARY OPERATIONS BRING HIM LOTS OF TROUBLE.

THE Deacon reached the corn-crib again be fore daylight, and found
Si and Shorty fast asleep. This relieved him much, for he had been
disturbed with apprehensions of what might happen them while he was
gone. Though he was more tired, it seemed to him, than he had ever been
before in all his life, yet he nerved himself up to clean and cook one
of the chickens, so as to give Si a delightful surprise when he awoke.

The Deacon had grown so wise in the army ways that his first problem was
how to hide the remaining four fowls until he should need them.

"I'd simply be mobbed," he communed with him self, "if daylight should
come, and show me with four chickens in my possession. The whole Army
o' the Cumberland 'd jump me as one man, and I'd be lucky if I got away
with my life. Mebbe even the General himself 'd send a regiment down to
take the things away from me. But what kin I do with 'em? If I hang 'em
up inside the corn-crib they'll spile. The weather is cold enough to
keep 'em outside, but I'd need a burglar-proof safe to hold on to 'em.
It's just awful that morals are so bad in the army, and that men will
take things that don't belong to 'em."

He stopped short, for there arose the disturbing thought as to just how
he himself had come into possession of the birds, and he murmured:

"'Tain't in me to blame 'em. What is 't the Bible says about 'Let him
who is without sin cast the first stone?' Certainly I'm not the man to
be heavin' dornicks just now."

Mindful of past experiences, he took the fowls in one hand, when he went