“Reck’n you better be skerce, Chunk, ef Mad Whately comes,” said his grandmother, trembling.

“I knows des w’at ter ’spect fum Mad Whately en fum dat ar oberseer too, but dey fin’ me a uggly ole hornet.  I got my sting han’y,” and he tapped the butt of a revolver in the breast of his coat.  Having devoured the remnants of the breakfast he darted out and mounted his horse also.

Mad Whately was coming sure enough, and like a whirlwind.  He had fallen in with the van of the Confederate advance during the night, and by his representations had induced an early and forced march to The Oaks.  The vigilant Scoville, with his experiences as a scout fresh in his mind, had foreseen this possibility.  He had two plans in his mind and was ready to act upon either of them.

Rushing through the hallway of the mansion from the rear entrance, Miss Lou found her kindred on the veranda.  They were too excited and eager to ask where she had been, for the fierce rebel yell had already been raised at the entrance of the avenue.

“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Baron, “now we’ll see this Yankee scum swept away.”

Apparently he would have good reason for his exultation.  Scoville was the last man in the world to fight blindly, and Miss Lou kept her eyes on him.  As he sat on his horse, where he commanded the best view of the advancing enemy, she thought he appeared wonderfully quiet.  Not so his men.  They were galloping to the right of the mansion, where there was a grove on rising ground which formed a long ridge stretching away to the northwest.  It can readily be guessed that it was Scoville’s aim not to be cut off from the main Union column by a superior force, and the ridge would enable him to see his enemy before he fought, if he should deem it wise to fight at all.  He knew that his horses were fresh.  If those of the attacking party were somewhat blown he could easily keep out of the way if it were too strong to cope with.  He exchanged a few words with the sergeant commanding the scouting party recently sent out, and pointed to the grove with his sabre, then slowly followed with his eye on the enemy.

Miss Lou was in a fever of apprehension in his behalf, for already shots were fired at him from the Confederates.  Suddenly she heard the click of a musket lock just beneath her, and, looking down, saw Perkins levelling a piece at Scoville.  Quick as light she drew off her slipper and dashed it into the man’s face as he fired.  By reason of his disconcerted aim the bullet flew harmlessly by the Union officer, who gave a quick, stern glance toward his assailant, recognized him, and galloped after his men.

“You vile murderer!” cried Miss Lou, “would you shoot a man in his back?”

“Oh, come, Perkins, that’s hardly the thing, no matter what your provocation,” Mr. Baron added.

Perkins bestowed a malignant glance on Miss Lou, then limped away, wearing a sullen look.  The officer in command of the Confederates sheered off across the lawn toward the grove, and the girl quickly saw that his force greatly outnumbered that of Scoville.  Mad Whately dashed up to the piazza steps and asked breathlessly, “Are you all safe?”