'nough ter do ef he keeps his eyes on his horse's ears and his ears on the clink of the horse's feet. Thet's his bus'ness."

Lionel, stung by the rebuke, drew his horse back, and in single file the troop passed on to worship. Warwick rode ahead, silent, stern, gloomy, thinking of his God and his duty. Behind him, one after the other, came Mary, Joshua and the guest. No one spoke, and probably none of the Kentuckians gave a thought to the scenery; but every turn of the road brought to Lionel views that enraptured him, so different were they from those of the land he had previously known.

Whether the forests hemmed them in, whether the hillsides were uplifted to view, whether the party was fording the creek or crossing a bottom where the horse road cut a point of soil washed down from the heights above, was one and the same, a picture. Soon they passed a spot where a side road branched from the path, and there Lionel saw, not fifty feet away, a solitary cavalryman in blue, gazing at the church-going squad. But there was no sign of recognition, and they passed on. The path led deeper into the primeval forests; the shadows were thicker, the moist air

grew sappier, even though the day was lengthening. Lionel again drew his horse close to that of Joshua.

"Another cavalryman was stationed to the right of our path."

Joshua glanced at the speaker inquisitively.

'Pears ter me you air consarned. I hain't no reason ter suspect you, but I hain't took no stock in thet rock story. Grown men trampin' the hills, pickin' up stone shells, hev monstrous little ter do, ef thet's their only bus'ness."

With this he forged ahead, while Lionel, with the second rebuke and its implied suspicion to redden his ears and flush his cheeks, followed in the rear.

It was now near ten o'clock, and yet each leaf and branch was dew-laden. The sun had been up five hours and more, and yet there was no ray in the deepening gulches through which they passed. The underbrush seemed even thicker, the fog hung like a wet blanket about them. Suddenly Joshua drew his horse to one side out of the path, and seized the bridle of Lionel. Pointing to the bank of bushes, he said:

"Ef you are the one the bluecoats are watchin'

-and you seem ter show et-this is yer last chance. Slip off yer horse, push through thet bunch of leaves, and you'll find a path. Foller et ter the end; et'll lead you ter a cave under a rock; stay thar till yer called fer. I'll pass the word 'round, and you'll be fed and keered fer till a chance comes ter help you out."

Lionel was astonished, and saw at once that Joshua considered him the suspected person.

"I have not deceived you," he said. "I am just what I claimed to be, and I have no other business than rock-hunting. The soldiers do not concern me. I am simply curious. Things here are so strange to me."

The young Kentuckian looked at him intently, still holding the bridle reins.

"Ef thet's so, yer a double fool. First, fer hevin' sech a bus'ness, and, second, fer not tendin' ter et and lettin' outsiders alone. I tell you ag'in thet et ain't safe in Stringtown County, Kantuck, ter wedge inter other people's affairs. Them sogers air not out fer fun, but their bis'ness ain't my consarn so fer es I knows of now. I jest goes on ter meetin', and waits fer them ter show who they're after. Thet's what you'd better do,

too. Keep yer eyes on yer horse's ears and yer ears on the sound of yer horse's feet, I says." He loosened his hold on the lines and rode on.

Gloomier than ever were the thickening forests on either side; the path ahead passed into a mass of shadows. The thickets to the right and the left wedged themselves together over the path, the creek seemed to move silently, as if to ripple were a sin; the sky was shut from sight by the interlaced foliage. Occasionally a gray squirrel on the trunk of a tree barked, frisked his tail and disappeared; now and then a striped ground squirrel squealed and then popped beneath a log; occasionally a turtle dropped with a splash into the still waters of the ever-present creek. Such were the sounds and such the scenes-such only, if we except the snake, which seemed to slip from off every stone and glide across the breast of the creek, or slide into the weeds that banked the thicket-bound path which, creeping beneath the trees, led toward the house of God.

At last abruptly they emerged from the forest, and came upon a little church built of stone. It stood on a point of land close to the creek, where the stream divided, to close in again behind the