speedily as they had approached, and all became still again. The
startled birds resumed their songs; the injured horse moved feebly,
and the girl saw that it was bleeding from a wound, but the man at
her feet did not stir. Truly something had happened. What should she
do? Breaking the paralysis of her fear and astonishment, she stepped
to the brook, gathered up water in her hands, and dashed it into the
face of the unconscious man. It had no effect. "Can he be dead?" she
asked herself in horror. He was as pale as his bronzed features
could become, and her woman's soul was touched that one who looked
so strong, who had been so vital a moment before, should now lie
there in pathetic and appealing helplessness. Was that fine, manly
face the visage of one of the terrible, bloodthirsty, unscrupulous
Yankees? Even as she ran to Aun' Jinkey's cottage for help the
thought crossed her mind that the world was not what it had been
represented to her, and that she must learn to think and act for
herself.

As she approached, Chunk, Aun' Jinkey's grandson, appeared coming
from the mansion house. He was nicknamed "Chunk" from his dwarfed
stature and his stout, powerful build. Miss Lou put her finger to
her lips, glanced hastily around, and led the way into the cabin.
She hushed their startled exclamations as she told her story, and
then said, "Aun' Jinkey, if he's alive, you must hide him in your
loft there where Chunk sleeps. Come with me."

In a few moments all three were beside the unconscious form. Chunk
instantly slipped his hand inside the soldier's vest over his heart.
"Hit done beats," he said, quickly, and without further hesitation
he lifted the man as if he had been a child, bore him safely to the
cabin, and laid him on Aun' Jinkey's bed. "Hi, granny, whar dat hot