The face of the youngest soldier was turned away. His eyelashes were wet,
and his teeth gnawed his under lip. Once he drew his coat sleeve across
his eyes, and once he looked as if the conversation had become unbearable,
almost.

"Weel, an' when it comes to that, I am the last man to be glad at the
death of a sinner, an' I take it, many a sinner handed in his checks there
yistiddy."

After a few general remarks the soldiers rode on. When they had gone about
three hundred yards they stopped, held a brief consultation, and finally
returned. The oldest man, who seemed to be the speaker, said:

"We have been struck with your answers to our questions, and have come
back to confide to you our situation and ask your aid. We are not," he
continued, "what we seem to be."

"If ye are not what ye seem to be, what are ye?"

"We are escaped rebel prisoners trying to make our way south. At least I
am, and that young fellow there was in this fight yesterday and got cut
off from his command. We believe you are a friend to our cause, and we
must have your advice and aid, for we are here without knowledge of people
or country."

"Well," said the Irishman, "if ye are decaving me the sin is all yer own.
If ye be honest an' true men, follow my advice and all will be well. I
live just two miles up the road, the first white frame house on the left
hand side of the road, with a barn in front of it. The country is full of
spies, an' you must be careful. Just ye ride up where I live, get off your