When waiting on the table, Zany either stood like an image carved out of black walnut or moved with the angular promptness of an automaton when a spring is touched. Only the quick roll of her eyes indicated how observant she was. If, however, she met Chunk in the hall, or anywhere away from observation, she never lost the opportunity to torment him. A queer grimace, a surprised stare, an exasperating derisive giggle, were her only acknowledgments of his amorous attentions. "Ef I doesn't git eben wid dat niggah, den I eat a mule," he muttered more than once.

But Chunk was in great spirits and a state of suppressed excitement. "'Pears ez ef I mout own mysef 'fo' dis moon done waxin' en wanin'," he thought. "Dere's big times comin,' big times. I'se yeard w'at hap'n w'en de Yanks go troo de kentry like an ol bull in a crock'ry sto'." In his duties of waiting on the troopers and clearing the table he had opportunities of purloining a goodly portion of the viands, for he remembered that he also had assumed the role of host with a very meagre larder to draw upon.

Since the Confederates were greatly wearied and were doubly inclined to sleep from the effects of a hearty supper and liberal potations, Mr. Baron offered to maintain a watch the early part of the night, while Perkins was enjoined to sleep with one eye open near the quarters. Mattresses and quilts were brought down and spread on the piazza floor, from which soon rose a nasal chorus, "des like," as Chunk declared, "a frog-pon' in full blas'."

Whately, trained in alert, soldierly ways, slept on the sofa in the parlor near his men. One after another the lights were extinguished, and the house became quiet. Chunk was stealing away with his plunder through the shrubbery in the rear of the house, when he was suddenly confronted by Zany. "Hi! you niggah!" she whispered, "I'se cotch you now kyarin' off nuff vittles ter keep you a mont. You gwinter run away."

"You wan ter run wid me?" asked Chunk, unabashed.

"What you took me fer?"

"Fer better er wuss, w'ite folks say. Reck'n it ud be fer wuss in dis case."

"I reck'n de wuss ain' fur off. I des step ter ole mars'r an' tell 'im ter 'vestigate yo' cabin dis eb'nin'," she said, and, with a great show of offended dignity, she was about to move away.

"Look yere, Zany, doan yer be a fool. Doan you wanter be a free gyurl?"

"Ef you had me fer wuss I'd be des 'bout ez free ez Miss Lou w'en she mar'ed ter Mad Whately."

"Hi! you year dat, too?"

"I got eyes, en I got years, en you ain' gwinter light out dis night en lebe yo' granny en we uns. I sut'ny put a spoke in yo' wheel dat stop hits runnin'."

Chunk was now convinced that he would have to take Zany into his confidence. He looked cautiously around, then whispered rapidly in her ear. "Hi!" she exclaimed, softly, "you got longer head dan body."

"I kin reach ter yo' lips," said Chunk, snatching a kiss.

"Stop dat foolishness!" she exclaimed, giving him a slight cuff.

"Zany, keep mum ez a possum. Dere's big times comin', en no un kin hender um, dough dey kin git deysefs in a heap ob trouble by blarnations. De Linkum men soon gwine ter be top of de heap an I'se gwinter be on top wid um. Dar you be, too, ef you stan's by Miss Lou en me."

"Ve'y well, but I'se gwinter keep my eye on you, Marse Chunk."

"Reck'n you will, kaze I am' gwinter be fur off; en ef you puts yo' eye on some oder man, you soon fin' he ain' dar." With this ominous assurance he stole away.

Soon afterward the hoot of an owl was heard again; shadows approached the cabin; Scoville, assisted by Chunk, joined them, and there was a whispered consultation. Scoville put the result in the following words:

"The chance is a good one, I admit. It is quite possible that we could capture the Johnnies and their horses, but that's not what we're out for. Besides, I'm too badly broken up. I couldn't ride to-night. You must go back to camp, and leave me to follow. Chunk here has provisions for you. Better be moving, for Whately will probably be out looking for you in the morning."

So it was decided, and the shadows disappeared. Scoville was put into Aun' Jinkey's bed, the old woman saying that she would sit up and watch. Chunk rubbed the bruised and aching body of the Union scout till he fell asleep, and then the tireless negro went to the spot where the poor horse had died in the stream. He took off the saddle and bridle. After a little consideration he diverted the current, then dug a hole on the lower side of the animal, rolled him into it, and changed the brook back into its old channel. Carefully obliterating all traces of his work, he returned to the cabin, bolted the door, lay down against it so that no one could enter, and was soon asleep.

The next morning dawned serenely, as if Nature had no sympathy with the schemes and anxieties to which the several actors in our little drama wakened. Whately was early on foot, for he felt that he had much to accomplish. Mr. Baron soon joined him, and the young man found in his uncle a ready coadjutor in his plans. They were both in full accord in their desires, although governed by different motives. The old man was actuated by his long-indulged greed for land, and wholly under the dominion of his belief that one of the chief ends of marriage was to unite estates. In this instance he also had the honest conviction that he was securing the best interests of his niece. No one could tell what would happen if the invaders should appear, but he believed that the girl's future could best be provided for in all respects if she became the wife of a Confederate officer and a representative of his family.

Sounds of renewed life came from all directions; the troopers rolled up their blankets, and went to look after their horses; Mrs. Baron bustled about, giving directions for breakfast; Chunk and Zany worked under her eye as if they were what she wished them to be, the automatic performers of her will; Aun' Suke fumed and sputtered like the bacon in her frying-pan, but accomplished her work with the promptness of one who knew that no excuses would be taken from either master or mistress; Miss Lou dusted the parlor, and listened stolidly to the gallantries of her cousin. He was vastly amused by her reserve, believing it to be only maidenly coyness.

Breakfast was soon served, for Whately had announced to Mr. Baron his intention of scouting in the woods where the Federals had disappeared; also his purpose to visit his home and summon his mother to his contemplated wedding. He and his men soon rode away, and the old house and the plantation resumed their normal quiet aspect.

It had been deemed best not to inform Miss Lou of her cousin's immediate purpose until his plans were a little more certain and matured. Circumstances might arise which would prevent his return at once. Moreover, he had petitioned for the privilege of breaking the news himself. He believed in a wooing in accordance with his nature, impetuous and regardless at the time of the shy reluctance of its object; and it was his theory that the girl taken by storm would make the most submissive, contented and happy of wives; that women secretly admired men who thus asserted their will and strength, if in such assertion every form was complied with, and the impression given that the man was resistless because he could not resist the charms which had captivated him. "Why, uncle," he had reasoned, "it is the strongest compliment that a man can pay a woman, and she will soon recognize it as such. When once she is married, she will be glad that she did not have to hesitate and choose, and she will always believe in the man who was so carried away with her that he carried her away. My course is best, therefore, on general principles, while in this particular instance we have every reason for prompt action. Lou and I have been destined for each other from childhood, and I'm not willing to leave her to the chances of the hurly-burly which may soon begin. As my wife I can protect her in many ways impossible now."