CHAPTER SIX


ON TO CHATTANOOGA

"I must leave, sir, as soon as my horse is fit to travel," replied Tom to
Mr. Beecham's questions regarding his plans. "That will give me more than
enough time if the ferry is running, and just enough time if I must follow
the river to the Chattanooga ferry."

Mr. Beecham's house was only ten miles from the town, figured on the map;
but the weather made map figuring hazardous. The Tennessee River had
mounted to a torrent under the continual rains, and the ferries which
customarily provided short-cuts were, for the most part, not operating. Tom
gathered that information at breakfast. He had no intention of trying to
cross at the Chattanooga ferry, for the Confederate guards there would be
dangerously strong, and it remained to find some ferryman who could be
bribed to risk the trip. That might take time.

"I'll look at your horse while I'm out," said Mr. Beecham. He was
preparing, regardless of the storm, for his usual walk about his estate. He
went out, and Mrs. Beecham turned to her household duties. Miss Marjorie
and Tom were alone, standing before the blazing fire in the hall. There was
still that disconcerting twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

"I suppose I do look funny," he said, glancing down at his clothes.

"It's not kind of me to laugh," she replied. "Were you very wet!"