with bloodhounds.
Can you tell us of anything that will put the savage brutes off the
scent?"

"Sah?"

"Something that will stop the hounds from following us--quick, quick! if
you know anything."

The negro sprang up, reached a bottle from a shelf, and handing it to
Harry, said, "Turpentine, sah; rub um on your feet, gen'lemen, an' de
hounds won't follah you no moah. But please, sahs, go little ways off into
the woods fo' you use um, so de rebs not tink dis chile gib um to ye."

Harry clutched the bottle, throwing down a ten-dollar bill (all the money
he had about him) at Uncle Scip's feet, and dragging Harold some hundred
yards farther into the depths of the wood, seated him on a log, applied
the turpentine plentifully to his feet, and then to his own.

All this time the baying of the hounds came nearer and nearer, till it
seemed that the next moment would bring them into sight.

"Up!" cried Harry, flinging away the empty bottle, "one more tug for life
and liberty, or we are lost!"

Harold did not speak, but hope and fear once more inspiring him with
temporary strength, he rose and hurried on by the side of his friend.
Coming presently to a cleared space, they almost flew across it, and
gained the shelter of the woods beyond. The cry of the hounds was no
longer heard.

"They've lost the scent, sure enough," said Duncan, exultingly; "a little
farther and I think we may venture to rest awhile, concealing ourselves in
some thicket. Indeed 'twill now be safer to hide by day, and continue our
journey by night."

They did so, spending that and the next day in hiding, living upon roots
and berries, and the next two nights in traveling in the supposed
direction of the nearest Union camp, coming upon the pickets about sunrise
of the third day. They were of Captain Duncan's own regiment, and he was
immediately recognized with a delighted, "Hurrah!"

"Hurrah for the Union and the old flag!" returned Harry, waving a green
branch above his head, in lieu of the military cap he had been robbed of
by his captors.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH.

"In peace, love tunes the shepherd's reed;
In war, he mounts the warrior's steed;
In halls, in gay attire is seen;
In hamlets, dances on the green;
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And men below and saints above;
For love is heaven, and heaven is love."
--SCOTT.

"Escaped prisoners from Anderso