to the folks at home." As he spoke, he produced the dollar, and the
butternut drew out of his capacious pocket a huge roll of bills--tens,
twenties, and fifties, enough to have made him independent if it had
been good money--and selecting a five-dollar bill, handed it to Frank,
who thrust it carelessly into his pocket.

"I'll allow that you-uns don't seem to be a bad lot of fellers," said
the butternut; "but I don't see what you-uns want to come down hyar to
fight we-uns for. We-uns never done nothing to you-uns."

"Every rebel I meet says the same thing," said Frank. "But who were the
richest men in this place before the war broke out?"

The man mentioned several names, among which was that of Abbott, the
chemist.

"Abbott, Abbott," repeated Frank, as if trying to recall the man to
mind; "I've heard that name before. Is he a Northern man?"

"No; he's allers lived at the South. His house is right back of the
hotel, third door from the corner, on the right-hand side as you go up
the street."

Frank had learned something, but he did not think it safe to question
the man further, for fear of exciting his suspicions; so, after a few
unimportant remarks, he turned on his heel and walked into the hotel,
which was used as the army head-quarters. Here he remained for nearly
half an hour, to give the man of whom he had received his information
time to leave the place, and then directed his steps toward Mr. Abbott's
dwelling. He had no difficulty in finding it, for he followed the