the wagons. Prescott had marked this suggestive
lurch, and it gave him an idea.

The farmer, heated by many warm drinks, was fumbling with the gear of
his horses when Prescott approached, and to his muddled eyes the
stranger seemed at least a general, looming very stiff and very tall
with his great military cloak drawn threateningly about him.

"What is your name?" asked Prescott sternly.

The severe tone made a deep and proper impression on the intoxicated
gentleman's agricultural mind, so he replied promptly, though with a
stutter:

"Elias Gardner."

"Where are you from, Elias, and what are you doing here?"

The military discipline about Richmond was very strict, and the farmer,
anxious to show his good standing, replied with equal promptness:

"From Wellsville. I've been selling a load of farm truck in Richmond.
Oh, I've got my pass right enough, Colonel."

He took his pass from his pocket and handed it to the man who from the
dignity and severity of his manner might be a general officer. Prescott
looking at it felt a thrill of joy, but there was no change in the
sternness of his tone when he addressed the farmer again.

"Why, this pass," he said, "is made out to Elias Gardner _and wife_. You
said nothing about your wife."

The farmer was somewhat confused, and explained hastily that his wife
was going to stay awhile in Richmond with relatives, while he went home
alone. In three or four days he would be back with another load of
provisions and then he could get her. The face of the stern officer
gradually relaxed and he accused the good Mr. Gardner of taking
advantage of his wife's absence to enjoy himself. Prescott nodded his
head slightly toward the tavern, and the farmer, taking courage from the
jocular contraction of the Colonel's left eye, did not resent the
insinuation. On the contrary, he enjoyed it, feeling that he was a devil
of a fellow, and significantly tapped the left pocket of his coat, which
gave forth a ring as of glass.

"The quality of yours is bad," said Prescott. "Here, try mine; it's like
velvet to the throat, a tonic to the stomach, and it means sweet sleep
to-morrow."

Drawing from his pocket his own well-filled flask, with which from
prudential motives he had provided himself before undertaking his
journey, he handed it to Mr. Gardner of Wellsville and made him drink
deep and long.

When the farmer finished he sighed deeply, and words of appreciation and
gratitude flowed from