Following this light, in fact, guiding it, was a noiseless, crouching
figure peering under the open steps, groping around the front door,
creeping beneath the windows; moving uneasily with a burglar-like
tread.

I grasped my umbrella, advanced to the edge of the tunnel, and called
out:--

"Who's that?"

The figure stopped, straightened up, held a lantern high over its head,
and peered into the darkness.

There was no mistaking that face.

"Oh, that's you, Chad, is it? What the devil are you doing?"
"Lookin' for one ob dese yer tar'pins Miss Nancy sent de colonel. Dey
was seben ob 'em in dis box, an' now dey ain't but six. Hole dis light,
Major, an' lemme fumble round dis rain-spout."

[Illustration:]

Chad handed me the lantern, fell on his knees, and began crawling
around the small yard like an old dog hunting for a possum, feeling
in among the roots of the honeysuckle, between the barrels that had
brought the colonel's china from Carter Hall, under the steps, way
back where Chad kept his wood ashes--but no "brer tar'pin."

"Well, if dat don't beat de lan'! Dey was two ba'els--one had dat wild