“Come back here, you rascal,” called Joe. “Haven’t you any better manners? Tell Miss Letty who it is.” Danny rolled his eyes toward the door. “She say I isn’t to tell, suh.” “Oh, well, never mind, I’ll go,” Lettice said. She opened the door and stepped out upon the porch. In one corner stood a figure in blue sunbonnet and checked gingham frock; it looked strangely familiar. With the sound of the closing of the door the figure started forward, and a soft voice said: “Praise de Lawd, dat mah Miss Letty. I is got back.” “Lutie!” cried Lettice, running toward the girl and throwing her arms around her. “Where have you been all this time?” “’Deed, miss, I doesn’t know. Dem Britishers done tek me off an’ ca’y me somewhars, I dunno whar nor wha’fo’, an’ when de man what say he own me gits killed in dat battle yuh-alls has, I gits a chanst to run away, an’ I tu’ns mah face todes Baltimo’, an’ I keeps a-inchin’ along, a-inchin’ along twel I gits hyar, an’ hyar I is. Law, Miss Letty, yuh nuvver thought I done run away mahse’f? No, ma’am, I ain’ no such notion. I yo’ own gal, an’ I don’ nuvver want no other mistis.” Lettice, in sheer delight, gazed at her as if she could not believe her eyes. “I skeered yuh git ma’ied, Miss Letty,” Lutie went on, “an’ go off yonder wid dat Mars Clinton.” “You need never be afraid of that,” said Lettice, decidedly. Lutie twisted her bonnet strings around her finger. “Miss Letty, is yuh know what become of Jubal?” she asked miserably. Lettice shook her head. “I knows,” said Lutie, solemnly; “de po’ mizzible sinnah is gone to glory, an’ I see him go. Yass, ma’am; dey blow him into kingdom come, ’cause he such a sneakin’ varmint, an’ he try to do dem redcoats lak he done yuh-alls, an’ dey don’ stan’ no such wucks, no ma’am, an’ dey ups an’ shoots him. Miss Letty, Danny say young Mars Torm done gone to glory, too. Is dat so?” “Yes,” replied Lettice, “he died bravely, Lutie; poor dear Tom. Come in, now, and pay your respects to Miss Betty and the rest. Aunt Martha will have to let me keep you this time, for I don’t intend to have you out of my sight till we are rid of the British for good and all.” Lutie willingly sought Miss Betty, and Lettice reëntered the room she had just left. She saw her Cousin Joe quietly sleeping, one cheek resting on Patsey’s hand, which she would not withdraw from its position. Although the lines of suffering were still apparent upon Joe’s face, a happy smile played around his mouth, and Patsey’s eyes wore a look of supreme content. That evening, when Lettice’s brother William came in, he drew from his pocket a small printed paper in handbill form. “Here, Lettice,” he said, “your friend, Mr. Francis Key, has distinguished himself. It seems he was on board one of the British ships the night of the bombardment--” “A prisoner?” Lettice interrupted.