“Gone to Richmond, sar.  He’s member ob Congress.”

“Then he’s in poor business, Blackee,” said Tom, as he took out his handkerchief, and proceeded to transfer the remnants of his supper to its capacious folds.

“Better luff dem tings alone, sar.”

But Tom refused to “luff dem alone,” and when he had placed them on the handkerchief, he made a bundle of them.

“Golly, sar!  I’ll tell my missus what’s gwine on down here,” added the servant, as he moved towards the door.

“See here, Blackee,” interposed Tom, pointing his pistol at the negro; “if you move, I’ll put one of these balls through your skull.”

“De Lud sabe us, massa!  Don’t shoot dis nigger, massa.”

“Hold your tongue then, and mind what I say.”

“Yes, massa,” whined the darkey, in the most abject tones.

“Now come with me, Blackee, and if you open your mouth, one of these pills shall go down your throat.”

Tom flourished his pistol before the negro, and led the way to the window by which he had entered the house.  Passing out upon the veranda, he cautiously conducted the terrified servant to the road; and when they had gone a short distance, he halted.

“Now, Blackee, what town is this?” demanded Tom.

“Leeds Manor, sar,” replied the trembling negro.

“How far is it to the Shenandoah River?”

“Only two or tree miles, massa.  Now let dis chile go home again.”

“Not yet.”

“Hab mercy on dis nigger dis time, and sabe him.”

“I won’t hurt you, if you behave yourself.”

Tom questioned him for some time in regard to the river, and the towns upon its banks; and when he had obtained all the information in regard to the valley which the servant possessed, he resumed his journey, driving the negro before him.

“Spare dis chile, massa, for de sake ob de wife and chil’n,” pleaded the unwilling guide.

“I tell you I won’t hurt you if you behave yourself,” replied Tom.  “You’ll have the whole place down upon me in half an hour, if I let you go now.”

“No, massa; dis nigger won’t say one word ’bout you, nor de tings you took from de house—­not one word, massa.  Spare dis chile, and luff him go home.”

But Tom compelled him to walk before him till they came to the river.  The place was called Seaburn’s Ford.

“Now, Blackee, if anybody wants me, tell them I’ve gone to Winchester,” said Tom, when he had ordered his escort to halt.

“No, massa, I won’t say one word,” replied the servant.

“If you do, I’ll shoot you the very next time I see you—­depend upon that.  You can go now.”

The negro was not slow to avail himself of this privilege, and ran off, evidently expecting a bullet from the revolver would overtake him before he had gone far, for he glanced fearfully over his shoulder, begging his captor not to shoot him.