A few evenings before the stampede of Robert and his friends to the army, and as he sat alone in his room reading the latest news from the paper he had secreted, he heard a cautious tread and a low tap at his window.  He opened the door quietly and whispered:—­

“Anything new, Tom?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?  Come in.”

“Well, I’se done bin seen dem Yankees, an’ dere ain’t a bit of troof in dem stories I’se bin yerin ’bout ’em.”

“Where did you see ’em?”

“Down in de woods whar Marster tole us to hide.  Yesterday ole Marse sent for me to come in de settin’-room.  An’ what do you think?  Instead ob makin’ me stan’ wid my hat in my han’ while he went froo a whole rigamarole, he axed me to sit down, an’ he tole me he ’spected de Yankees would want us to go inter de army, an’ dey would put us in front whar we’d all git killed; an’ I tole him I didn’t want to go, I didn’t want to git all momached up.  An’ den he said we’d better go down in de woods an’ hide.  Massa Tom and Frank said we’d better go as quick as eber we could.  Dey said dem Yankees would put us in dere wagons and make us haul like we war mules.  Marse Tom ain’t libin’ at de great house jis’ now.  He’s keepin’ bachellar’s hall.”

“Didn’t he go to the battle?”

“No; he foun’ a pore white man who war hard up for money, an’ he got him to go.”

“But, Tom, you didn’t believe these stories about the Yankees.  Tom and Frank can lie as fast as horses can trot.  They wanted to scare you, and keep you from going to the Union army.”

“I knows dat now, but I didn’t ’spect so den.”

“Well, when did you see the soldiers?  Where are they?  And what did they say to you?”

“Dey’s right down in Gundover’s woods.  An’ de Gineral’s got his headquarters almos’ next door to our house.”

“That near?  Oh, you don’t say so!”

“Yes, I do.  An’, oh, golly, ain’t I so glad!  I jis’ stole yere to told you all ‘bout it.  Yesterday mornin’ I war splittin’ some wood to git my breakfas’, an’ I met one ob dem Yankee sogers.  Well, I war so skeered, my heart flew right up in my mouf, but I made my manners to him and said, ‘Good mornin’, Massa.’  He said, ‘Good mornin’; but don’t call me “massa."’ Dat war de fust white man I eber seed dat didn’t want ter be called ‘massa,’ eben ef he war as pore as Job’s turkey.  Den I begin to feel right sheepish, an’ he axed me ef my marster war at home, an’ ef he war a Reb.  I tole him he hadn’t gone to de war, but he war Secesh all froo, inside and outside.  He war too ole to go to de war, but dat he war all de time gruntin’ an’ groanin’, an’ I ’spected he’d grunt hisself to death.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he specs he’ll grunt worser dan dat fore dey get froo wid him.  Den he axed me ef I would hab some breakfas,’ an’ I said, ’No, t’ank you, sir.’  ‘An’ I war jis’ as hungry as a dorg, but I war ’feared to eat.  I war ’feared he war gwine to pizen me.”