Special Messenger

  V

  RED FERRY

  When Private Allen of Kay's Cavalry deserted with headquarters' dispatchpouch, and headed straight for Dixie, there was a great deal ofconsternation and excitement on the north bank of the river, and aconsiderable amount of headlong riding. But on the tenth day he slippedthrough the cordon, got into the woods, and was making for the riverwhen a patrol shot at him near Gopher Creek, but lost him in theimpenetrable cypress swamp beyond.

  However, the pursuit was pushed forward to the very edge of the enemy'scountry; Kay's troopers patrolled the north bank of the river andwatched every road and ford; east and west Ripley's and Haynes'sbrigades formed impassable curtains.

  Somewhere in this vast corral lay hidden a desperate, starving man; andit was only a question of time before the hunted creature broke coverfor the water.

  That a trooper had deserted with arms and equipment was generally known;but that, in his nocturnal flight, he had also taken vitally importantpapers was known at first only to Kay and later to the SpecialMessenger, who was sent to him post-haste from corps headquarters whenthe fugitive headed for the river.

  Now, the south bank of the stream being in the enemy's territory, Kayhad not ventured to station patrols above the clay banks opposite, lestrumor of invasion bring Stuart's riders to complicate a man chase andthe man escape in the confusion.

  And he explained this to the Special Messenger at their firstconference.

  "It ought to be guarded," insisted the Messenger tranquilly. "There arethree good fords and a ferry open to him."

  "I hold the fords on this side," argued Kay; "the ferryboat lies in theeel-grass on the south shore."

  "Stuart's riders might cross if they heard of this trouble, sir!"

  "And if they see Union troops on the south bank they'll cross, sure pop.It won't do, Messenger. If that fellow attempts the fords we'll catchhim, sure; if he swims we may get him in the water. The Lord knows Iwant him badly, but I dare not invite trouble by placing vedettes acrossthe stream.... There's a ferryman over there I'm worried about, too.He'd probably come across if Allen hailed him from the woods.... AndAllen was thick with him. They used to fish together. Nobody knows whatthey hatched out between them. It worries me, I can tell you--thatferry."

  The Messenger walked to the tent door and looked thoughtfully at thewoods around her. The colonel rose from his camp stool and followed her,muttering:

  "I might as well try to catch a weasel in a wall, or a red horse in themud; and how to go about it I don't know." With set jaws and an angryspot glowing in his gaunt cheeks, he stared wickedly around him and thenat the Messenger. "_You_ do miracles, they say. Can't you do one now?"

  "I don't know, sir. Who is this deserter?"

  "Roy Allen--a sullen, unwilling dog--always malingering. He's spent halfthe time in the guardhouse, half in the hospital, since he arrived withthe recruits. Somebody got an idea that he'd been hit by the sun, butit's all bosh. He's a bad one--that's all. Can you help me out?"

  The Messenger nodded.

  "You say he's fond of fishing?"

  "Crazy about it. He was often detailed to keep us in food when rationsran low. Then the catfish made us sick, so I stopped his fishing. Thenhe took French leave."

  "I want two troopers this evening, Colonel. May I have them?" she askedthoughtfully. "I'm going to keep house at Red Ferry for a while."

  "All right, ma'am. Look out for him; he's a bad one."

  But the Messenger shook her head, smiling.

  At ten o'clock that night the Special Messenger, mounted astride andfollowed by two cavalrymen with carbines, rode down through the rivermist to Bushy Ford.

  Daintily her handsome horse set foot in the water, hesitated, bent hislong, velvety neck, sniffed, and finally drank; then, satisfied, steppedquietly forward, hock-deep, in the swirling, yellow flood.

  "Foller them stakes, Miss," cautioned the older trooper; "I sot 'emm'self, I did."

  "Thank you. Keep close to me, Connor. I've crossed here before it wasstaked."

  "Sho!" exclaimed Connor under his breath; "she do beat 'em all!"

  Twice, having no light but the foggy stars, they missed the stakes andher horse had to swim, but they managed to flounder safely back to theford each time; and after a little while her mount rose, strainingthrough the red mud of the shore, struggled, scrambled madly, and drewout, dripping.

  Up a slippery, crooked ascent they rode, out into a field of uncut cornabove, then, spurring, swung at a canter eastward along the river.

  There was a dim light in the ferry house; a lubberly, fat man ran to theopen door as they drew bridle before it. When the fat man saw the bluetroopers he backed hastily away from the sill and the Messengerdismounted and followed him into the house, heavy revolver swinging inher gloved hand.

  "What'n hell y'goin' to do to me?" he began to whimper; "I ain't donenothin'"; but an excess of fright strangled him, and he continued toback away from her until he landed flat against the opposite wall. Shefollowed and halted before him, cocking her weapon, with a terriblefrown. She said solemnly:

  "I want you to answer me one or two questions, and if you lie to me itwill be the last time. Do you understand?"

  He nodded and moistened his thick lips, gulping.

  "Then you are the ferryman, Snuyder, are you not?"

  He nodded, utterly incapable of speech. She went on, gloomily:

  "You used to fish sometimes with a Yankee recruit named Allen--RoyAllen?"

  "Ye-s'm," he sniveled. "There's my fish-pole an' his'n layin' onto theroof----"

  "How did he hail you when he wanted you to come across to take himfishing?"

  "He jest come down to the shore an' hollered twicet----"

  She bent closer, scanning his dilated eyes; speech died on his lips.

  "How did he call to you at _night_?"

  "He ain't never called me at night--so help me----"

  "No; _but in case he ever wished to fish at night?_"

  The man began to stammer and protest, but she covered him suddenly, andher dark eyes struck fire.

  "What signal?" she asked with a menacing ring in her voice. "Quick!"

  "Cock-o'-the-pines!... It didn't mean nothin'," gasped the man; ... "Itwas jest private--between fishin' friends----"

  "Go on!"

  "Yes'm.... If I heard a cock-o'-the-pines squeal I was to squeal back,an' then he was to holler--jest friendly--'Hallo-oo! How's fishin'?'That's all, ma'am----"

  "And you were to cross?"

  "Yes'm--jest friendly like. Him an' me was fond o' fishin'----"

  "I see. Sit down and don't move. Nobody is going to hurt you."

  She went to the door, leisurely uncocking her revolver and pushing itthrough her belt.

  "Oh, Connor," she called carelessly, "please mount my friend Mr. Snuyderon my horse, take him across the ford, and detain him as my guest atheadquarters until I return. Wait a second; I'm going to keep mysaddlebags with me."

  And a few minutes later, as the troopers rode away in the mist withtheir prisoner, her gentle voice followed them:

  "Don't be rough with him, Connor. Say to the colonel that there is noharm in him at all, but keep him in sight until I return; and _don't_let him go fishing!"

  * * * * *

  She began housekeeping at sunrise by taking a daring bath in the stream,then, dressing, she made careful inventory of the contents of the houseand a cautious survey of the immediate environment.

  The premises, so unexpectedly and unwillingly abandoned by its lateobese tenant, harbored, besides herself, only one living creature--a fatkitten.

  The ferry house stood above the dangerous south bank of the river in agrove of oaks, surrounded for miles by open country.

  A flight of rickety, wooden stairs pitched downward from the edge of thegrassy bank to a wharf at the water's edge--the mere skeleton of a wharfnow, outlined only by decaying stringpieces. But here the patched-uppunt was moored; and above it, nailed to a
dead tree, the sign with itshuge lettering still remained:

  RED FERRY HOLLER TWICE

  sufficiently distinct to be deciphered from the opposite shore. Sooneror later the fugitive would have to come to the river. Probably thecavalry would catch him at one of the fords, or some rifleman mightshoot him swimming. But, if he did not know the fords, and could notswim, there was only one ferry for him; east, west, and north he hadlong since been walled in. The chances were that some night acock-o'-the-pines would squeal from the woods across the river, and thenshe knew what to do.

  During those broiling days of waiting she had leisure enough. Seatedoutside her shanty, in the shade of the trees, where she was able tokeep watch both ways--south for her own safety's sake, north for thedoomed man--she occupied herself with mending stockings and underwear,raising her eyes at intervals to sweep the landscape.

  Nobody came into that heated desolation; neither voice nor gunshotechoed far or near. Day after day the foliage of the trees spreadmotionless under cloudless skies; day after day the oily river slippedbetween red mud banks in heated silence. In sky, on earth, nothingstirred except, at intervals, some buzzard turning, high in the blindingblue; below, all was deathly motionless, save when a clotted cake of redclay let go, sliding greasily into the current. At dawn the sun struckthe half-stunned world insensible once more; no birds stirred even atsunset; all the little creatures of the field seemed dead; her kittenpanted in its slumbers.

  Every night the river fog shrouded the land, wetting the parched leaves;dew drummed on the rotting porch like the steady patter ofpicket-firing; the widow bird's distracted mourning filled the silence;the kitten crept to its food, ate indifferently, then, settling on theMessenger's knees, stared, round-eyed, at the dark. But always at dawnthe sun burned off the mist, rising in stupefying splendor; the oilyriver glided on; not a leaf moved, not a creature. And the kitten slepton the porch, heedless of inviting grass stems whisked for her and theball of silk rolled past her in temptation.

  Half lying there, propped against a tree trunk in the heated shade,cotton bodice open, sleeves rolled to the shoulders, the SpecialMessenger mended her linen with languid fingers. Perspiration powderedher silky skin from brow to breast, from finger to elbow, shimmeringlike dew when she moved. Her dark hair fell, unbound; glossy tendrils ofit curled on her shoulders, framing a face in which nothing as yet hadextinguished the soft loveliness of youth.

  At times she talked to the kitten under her breath; sometimes hummed anold song. Memories kept her busy, too, at moments quenching thebrightness of her eyes, at moments twitching the edges of her vivid lipstill the dreamy smile transfigured her.

  But always quietly alert, her eyes scanned land and river, the bankopposite, the open fields behind her. Once, certain of a second'ssafety, she relaxed with a sigh, stretching out full length on thegrass; and, under the edge of her cotton skirt, the metal of a revolverglimmered for an instant, strapped in its holster below her right knee.

  The evening of the fourth day was cooler; the kitten hoisted its tailfor the first time in their acquaintance, and betrayed a feeble interestin the flight of a white dusk-moth that came hovering around the porchvines.

  "Pussy," said the Messenger, "there's bacon in that well pit; I am goingto make a fire and fry some."

  The kitten mewed faintly.

  "I thought you'd approve, dear. Cold food is bad in hot weather; andwe'll fry a little cornmeal, too. Shall we?"

  The kitten on its small, uncertain legs followed her into one of theonly two rooms. The fat tenant of the hovel had left some lightwood andkindling, and pots and pans necessary for such an existence as he led onearth.

  The Messenger twisted up her hair and pinned it; then culinary ritesbegan, the kitten breaking into a thin purring when an odor of baconfilled the air.

  "Poor little thing!" murmured the Messenger, going to the door for abrief cautionary survey. And, coming back, she lifted the fry pan andhelped the kitten first.

  They were still eating when the sun set and the sudden Southern darknessfell over woods and fields and river. A splinter of lightwood flaredaromatically in an old tin candlestick; by its smoky, wavering radianceshe heated some well water, cleaned the tin plates, scoured pan andkettle, and set them in their humble places again.

  Then, cleansing her hands daintily, she dried them, and picked up hersewing.

  For her, night was the danger time; she could not avoid, by flightacross the river, the approach of any enemy from the south; and for anenemy to discover her sitting there in darkness, with lightwood in thehouse, was to invite suspicion. Yet her only hope, if surprised, was toplay her part as keeper of Red Ferry.

  So she sat mending, sensitive ears on the alert, breathing quietly inthe refreshing coolness that at last had come after so many nights ofdreadful heat.

  The kitten, too, enjoyed it, patting with tentative velvet paw the skeinof silk dangling near the floor.

  But it was a very little kitten, and a very lonely one, and presently itasked, plaintively, to be taken up. So the Messenger lifted the mite offluffy fur and installed it among the linen on the table, where it wentto sleep purring.

  Outside the open door the dew drummed loudly; moths came in clouds,hovering like snowflakes about the doorway; somewhere in the woods atiger owl yelped.

  About midnight, lying on her sack of husks, close to the borderland ofsleep, far away in the darkness she heard a shot.

  In one bound she was at the door, buttoning her waist, and listening.And still listening, she lighted a pine splinter, raised her cottonskirt, and adjusted the revolver, strapping the holster tighter aboveand below her right knee.

  The pulsing seconds passed; far above the northern river bank a lightsparkled through the haze, then swung aloft; and she drew paper andpencil from her pocket, and wrote down what the torch was saying:

  "Shot fired at Muddy Ford. Look out along the river."

  And even as the red spark went out in the darkness a lonely birdcallfloated across the river--the strange squealing plaint of the greatcock-o'-the-pines. She answered, imitating it perfectly. Then a farvoice called:

  "Hallo-o-o! How's fishin'?"

  She picked up her pine candle, hurried out to the bank and creptcautiously down the crazy, wooden stairs. Setting her torch in the ironcage at the bow, she cast off the painter and, standing erect, swung thelong pole. Out into obscurity shot the punt, deeper and deeper plungedthe pole. She headed up river to allow for the current; the cool breezeblew her hair and bathed her bared throat and arms deliciously; crimsontorchlight flickered crisscross on the smooth water ahead.

  Every muscle in her body was in play now; the heavy pole slanted, roseand plunged; the water came clip! slap! clap! slap! against the squarebows, dusting her with spray.

  On, on, tossing and pitching as the boat hit the swift, deep, centercurrent; then the pole struck shallower depths, and after a while hertorch reddened foliage hanging over the northern river bank.

  She drove her pole into the clay as the punt's bow grated; a Federalcavalryman--a mere lad--muddy to the knees, brier-torn, and ghastlypale, waded out through the shallows, revolver in hand, clamberedaboard, and struck the torch into the water.

  "Take me over," he gasped. "Hurry, for God's sake! I tell you----"

  "Was it you who called?"

  "Yes. Snuyder sent you, didn't he? Don't stand there talking----"

  With a nervous stroke she drove the punt far out into the darkness, thenfell into a measured, swinging motion, standing nearer the stern thanthe bow. There was no sound now but the lapping of water and the man'sthick breathing; she strove to pierce the darkness between them, but shecould see only a lumpish shadow in the bow where he crouched.

  "I reckon you're Roy Allen," she began, but he cut her short:

  "Damn it! What's that to you?"

  "Nothing. Only Snuyder's gone."

  "When?"

  "Some days ago, leaving me to ferry folk over.... He told
me how toanswer you when you called like a cock-o'-the-pines."

  "Did he?" The voice was subdued and sullen.

  For a while he remained motionless, then, in the dull light of thefog-shrouded stars she saw him face her, and caught the faint sparkle ofhis weapon resting on his knees, covering her.

  "It seems to me," he said fiercely, "that you are asking a good manyquestions. Which side pays you?"

  They were tossing now on the rapid little waves in the center of theriver; she had all she could do to keep the punt steady and drive ittoward the spot where, against the stars, the oaks lifted theirclustered crests.

  At the foot of the wooden stairs she tied her boat, and offered torelight the pine knot, but he would not have it and made her grope upthe ascent before him.

  Over the top of the bank she led him, under the trees, to her door, heclose at her heels, revolver in hand. And there, on the sill, she facedhim.

  "What do you want here?" she asked; "supper?"

  "Go into the house and strike a light," he said, and followed her in.And, as she turned from the blazing splinter, he caught her by the arm,feeling roughly for a concealed weapon. Face aflame, she struggled outof his clutch; and he was as red as she as they confronted one another,breathing heavily.

  "I'm sorry," he stammered. "I'm--h-half-crazed, I think.... If you'rewhat you look, God knows I meant you no insult.... But--but--theirdamned spies are everywhere. I've stood too much--I've been in hell fortwo weeks----"

  He wiped his mouth with a trembling, raw hand, but his sunken eyes stillglared and the pallor once more blanched his sunken face.

  "I'll not touch you again," he said hoarsely; "I'm not a beast--not_that_ kind. But I'm starving. Is there anything--_anything_, I tellyou? I--I am not--very--strong."

  She looked calmly into the ravaged, but still boyish features; saw himswing, reeling a little, on his heels as he steadied himself with onehand against the table.

  "Sit down," she said in a low voice.

  He sank into a chair, resting the hand which clutched the revolver onthe table.

  Without a word she went about the business of the moment, rekindled theashes, filled the fry pan with mush and bacon. A little while afterwardsshe set the smoking food before him, and seated herself at the oppositeside of the table.

  The boy ate wolfishly with one hand; the other seemed to have grown fastto the butt of his heavy weapon. She could have bent and shot him underthe table had she wished; she could have taken him with her bare hands.

  But she only sat there, dark, sorrowful eyes on him, and in pity for hiscertain doom her under lip trembled at intervals so she could scarcelycontrol it.

  "Is there a horse to be had anywhere near here?" he asked, pausing toswallow what his sunken jaws had been working on.

  "No; the soldiers have taken everything."

  "I will pay--anything if you'll let me have something to ride."

  She shook her head.

  He went on eating; a slight color had come back into his face.

  "I'm sorry I was rough with you," he said, not looking at her.

  "Why were you?"

  He raised his head wearily.

  "I've been hunted so long that I guess it's turned my brain. Except forwhat you've been good enough to give me, I've had nothing inside me fordays, except green leaves and bark and muddy water.... I suppose I can'tsee straight.... There's a woman they call the Special Messenger;--Ithought they might have started her after me.... That shot at the fordseemed to craze me.... So I risked the ferry--seeing your lightacross--and not knowing whether Snuyder was still here or whether theyhad set a guard to catch me.... It was Red Ferry or starve; I'm too weakto swim; I waited too long."

  And as the food and hot tea warmed him, his vitality returned in amaddened desire for speech after the weeks of terror and silence.

  "I don't know who you are," he went on, "but I guess you're not fixedfor shooting at me, as every living thing seems to have done for thelast fortnight. Maybe you're in Yankee pay, maybe in Confederate; Ican't help it. I suppose you'll tell I've been here after I'm gone....But they'll never get me now!" he bragged, like a truant schoolboyrecounting his misdemeanor to an awed companion.

  "Who are you?" she asked very gently.

  He looked at her defiantly.

  "I'm Roy Allen," he said, "of Kay's Cavalry.... If you're fixing to tellthe Union people you might as well tell them who fooled 'em!"

  "What have you done?"

  She inquired so innocently that a hint of shame for his suspicion andbrutality toward her reddened his hollow cheeks.

  "I'll tell you what I've done," he said. "I've taken to the woods,headed for Dixie, with a shirtful of headquarter papers. That's whatI've done.... And perhaps you don't know what that means if they catchme. It means hanging."

  "Hanging!" she faltered.

  "Yes--if they get me." His voice quivered, but he added boastingly: "Nofear of that! I'm too many for old Kay!"

  "But--but why did you desert?"

  "Why?" he repeated. Then his face turned red and he burst out violently:"I'll tell you why. I lived in New York, but I thought the South was inthe right. Then they drafted me; and I tried to tell them it was anoutrage, but they gave me the choice between Fort Lafayette and Kay'sCavalry.... And I took the Cavalry and waited.... I wouldn't have goneas far as to fight against the flag--if they had let me alone.... I onlyhad my private opinion that the South was more in the right than we--theNorth--was.... I'm old enough to have an opinion about niggers, and I'mno coward either.... They drove me to this; I didn't want to kill peoplewho were more in the right than we were.... But they made me enlist--andI couldn't stand it.... And now, if I've got to fight, I'll fightbullies and brutes who----"

  He ended with a gesture--an angry, foolish boast, shaking his weapontoward the north. Then, hot, panting, sullenly sensible of his fatigue,he laid the pistol on the table and glowered at the floor.

  She could have taken him, unarmed, at any moment, now.

  "Soldier," she said gently, "listen to me."

  He looked up with heavy-lidded eyes.

  "I am trying to help you to safety," she said.

  A hot flush of mortification mantled his face:

  "Thank you.... I ought to have known; I--I am ashamed of what Isaid--what I did."

  "You were only a little frightened; I am not angry."

  "You understand, don't you?"

  "A--little."

  "You are Southern, then?" he said; and in spite of himself his heavylids began to droop again.

  "No; Northern," she replied.

  His eyes flew wide open at that, and he straightened up in his chair.

  "Are you afraid of me, Soldier?"

  "No," he said, ashamed again. "But--you're going to tell on me after Iam gone."

  "No."

  "Why not?" he demanded suspiciously.

  She leaned both elbows on the table, and resting her chin on both palms,smiled at him.

  "Because," she said, "you are going to tell on yourself, Roy."

  "What!" he blurted out in angry astonishment.

  "You are going to tell on yourself.... You are going back to yourregiment.... It will be your own idea, too; it _has_ been your own ideaall the while--your secret desire every moment since you deserted----"

  "Are you crazy!" he cried, aghast; "or do you think I am?"

  "--ever since you deserted," she went on, dark eyes looking deep intohis, "it has been your desire to go back.... Fear held you; ragehardened your heart; dread of death as your punishment; angry broodingon what you believed was a terrible injustice done you--all these droveyou to panic.... Don't scowl at me: don't say what is on your lips tosay. You are only a tired, frightened boy--scarcely eighteen, are you?And at eighteen no heart can really be a traitor."

  "Traitor!" he repeated, losing all his angry color.

  "It is a bad word, isn't it, Roy? Lying hidden and starving in theforest through the black nights you had to fight that word away fromyou--drive it out
of your half-crazed senses--often--didn't you? Don'tyou think I know, my boy, what a dreadful future you faced, lying therethrough the stifling nights while they hunted you to hang you?

  "I know, also, that what you did you did in a moment of insane rage. Iknow that the moment it was done you would, in your secret soul, havegiven the world to have undone it."

  "No!" he cried. "I was right!"

  She rose, walked to the door, and seated herself on the sill, looking upat the stars.

  For an hour she sat there, silent. Behind her, leaning heavily on thetable, he crouched, hot eyes wide, pulse heavy in throat and body. Andat last, without turning, she called to him--three times, very gently,speaking his name; and at the third call he rose and came stumblingtoward her.

  "Sit here."

  He sank down beside her on the sill.

  "Are you very tired?"

  "Yes."

  She placed one arm around him, drawing his hot head down on hershoulder.

  "How foolish you have been," she whispered. "But, of course, your mothermust not know it.... There is no reason to tell her--ever.... Becauseyou went quite mad for a little while--and nobody is blamed for mentalsickness.... How bright the stars are.... What a heavenly coolness afterthat dreadful work.... How feverish you are! I think that your regimentbelieves you roamed away while suffering from sunstroke.... TheirColonel is a good friend of mine. Tell him you're sorry."

  His head lay heavily on her shoulder; she laid a fresh hand over hiseyes.

  "If the South is right, if we of the North are right, God knows betterthan you or I, Roy.... And if you are so bewildered that you have nodeep conviction either way I think you may trust Him who set you amongKay's Cavalry.... God never betrayed a human soul in honest doubt."

  "It--it was the flag!--that was the hardest to get over--" he began, andchoked, smothering the dry sob against her breast.

  "I know, dear.... The old flag means so much--it means all that ourfathers have been, all that we ought to be for the world's sake. Anger,private resentment, bitterness under tyranny--these are little things;for, after all, the flag still stands for what we ought to be--you and Iand those who misuse us, wittingly or otherwise.... Where are thepapers you took?"

  He pressed his feverish face closer to her shoulder and fumbled at thebuttons of his jacket.

  "Here?" she asked softly, aiding him with deft fingers; and in a momentshe had secured them.

  For a while she held him there, cradling him; and his dry, burning faceseemed to scorch her shoulder.

  Dawn was in the sky when she unclosed her eyes--a cool, gray dawn,hinting of rain.

  She looked down at the boy. His head lay across her lap; he slept,motionless as the dead.

  The sun rose, a pale spot on the gray horizon.

  "Come," she said gently. And again, "Come; I want you to take me acrossthe ferry."

  He rose and stood swaying on his feet, rubbing both eyes with briar-tornfists.

  "You will take me, won't you, Roy?"

  "Where?"

  "Back to your regiment."

  "Yes--I'll take you."

  For a few moments she was busy gathering up her spools and linen.

  "You carry my saddlebags," she said, "and I'll take the kitten. Isn't itcunning, Roy? Do look at the poor little thing! We can't leave it here."

  Following, laden with her saddlebags, he stammered:

  "Do--d-do you think they'll shoot me?"

  "No," she said, smiling. "Be careful of the ferry steps; they aredreadfully shaky."

  She began the descent, clasping the kitten in both arms; the boyfollowed. Seated in the punt, they stowed away the saddlebags and thekitten, then he picked up the pole, looked at her, hesitated. Shewaited.

  "I guess the old man will have me shot.... But--I am going back," hesaid, as though to himself.

  She watched him; he looked up.

  "You're right, ma'am. I must have been crazy. Everybody reads abouttraitors--in school.... Nobody ever forgets their names.... I don't wantmy name in school books."

  "Like Benedict Arnold's," she said; and he quivered from head to foot.

  "Oh, cricky!" he burst out, horrified; "how close I came to it! Have yougot those papers safe?"

  "Yes, Roy."

  "Then I'll go. I don't care what they do to me."

  As he rose with the pole, far away in the woods across the river acavalry band began to play. Faint and clear the strains of theStar-Spangled Banner rose from among the trees and floated over thewater; the boy stood spellbound, mouth open; then, as the far music diedaway, he sank back into the boat, deathly pale.

  "I--I ought to be hung!" he whispered.

  The Messenger picked up the fallen pole, set it, and drove the punt outinto the river. Behind her, huddled in the stern, the prodigal wept,uncomforted, head buried in his shaking arms; and the kitten, beingafraid, left the shelter of the thwarts and crept up on his knees,sitting there and looking out at the unstable world of water inround-eyed apprehension.

  As the punt grated on the northern shore the Messenger drove her poleinto the mud, upright, and leaned on it.

  "Roy," she said, looking back over her shoulder.

  The boy rubbed his wet eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and got up.

  "Are you afraid?"

  "Not now."

  "That is well.... You'll be punished.... Not severely.... For you cameback of your own accord--repentant.... Tell me, were you really afraidthat the Special Messenger might catch you?"

  "Yes, I was," he said simply. "That's why I acted so rough with you....I didn't know; they say any woman you see may be the SpecialMessenger.... So I took no chances.... Who are you, anyway?"

  "Only a friend of yours," she said, smiling. "Please pick up my kitten.Thank you.... And some day, when you've been very, very good, I'll askColonel Kay to let you take me fishing."

  And she stepped lightly ashore; the boy followed, holding the kittenunder one arm and drying his grimy eyes on his sleeve.