effort for self-preservation, threw himself forward, falling upon the sand almost at the young girl’s feet.  He uttered a groan, shivered, and became insensible.  A moment or two later a band in gray galloped by wholly intent upon the Federals, who had disappeared spurring for the woods, and she recognized her cousin, Madison Whately, leading the pursuit.  Neither he nor any of his party looked her way, and it was evident that the Union soldier who had so abruptly diverged from the road behind the screening copse had not been discovered.  The sounds died away as speedily as they had approached, and all became still again.  The startled birds resumed their songs; the injured horse moved feebly, and the girl saw that it was bleeding from a wound, but the man at her feet did not stir.  Truly something had happened.  What should she do?  Breaking the paralysis of her fear and astonishment, she stepped to the brook, gathered up water in her hands, and dashed it into the face of the unconscious man.  It had no effect.  “Can he be dead?” she asked herself in horror.  He was as pale as his bronzed features could become, and her woman’s soul was touched that one who looked so strong, who had been so vital a moment before, should now lie there in pathetic and appealing helplessness.  Was that fine, manly face the visage of one of the terrible, bloodthirsty, unscrupulous Yankees?  Even as she ran to Aun’ Jinkey’s cottage for help the thought crossed her mind that the world was not what it had been represented to her, and that she must learn to think and act for herself.

As she approached, Chunk, Aun’ Jinkey’s grandson, appeared coming from the mansion house.  He was nicknamed “Chunk” from his dwarfed stature and his stout, powerful build.  Miss Lou put her finger to her lips, glanced hastily around, and led the way into the cabin.  She hushed their startled exclamations as she told her story, and then said, “Aun’ Jinkey, if he’s alive, you must hide him in your loft there where Chunk sleeps.  Come with me.”

In a few moments all three were beside the unconscious form.  Chunk instantly slipped his hand inside the soldier’s vest over his heart.  “Hit done beats,” he said, quickly, and without further hesitation he lifted the man as if he had been a child, bore him safely to the cabin, and laid him on Aun’ Jinkey’s bed.  “Hi, granny, whar dat hot stuff you gib me fer de belly misery?”

Aun’ Jinkey had already found a bottle containing a decoction of the wild ginger root, and with pewter spoon forced some of the liquid into the man’s mouth.  He struggled slightly and began to revive.  At last he opened his eyes and looked with an awed expression at the young girl who stood at the foot of the bed.

“I hope you feel better now,” she said, kindly.

“Are you—­am I alive?” he asked.

“Dar now, mars’r, you isn’t in heb’n yet, dough Miss Lou, standin’ dar, mout favor de notion.  Des you took anoder swaller ob dis ginger-tea, en den you see me’n Chunk ain’ angels.”