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