While the latter were discussing the possibility of bushwhackers being in the neighborhood, they were suddenly startled by a loud cackling of hens and screaming of chickens; at the same instant a flock came rushing around the house with half a dozen soldiers in close pursuit. "Good idea, boys! We will have chickens for breakfast," said Corporal Grimm. A dozen or more chickens were caught and killed and carried to the cook. The soldiers politely inquired of the lady of the house if they could be of any further assistance, and then most of them returned to the front yard, where their arms were stacked or strewn promiscuously about. Three of them, with Corporal Grimm, remained to pick the chickens and prepare them for the cook, while their very amiable hostess was sullenly grinding away at a large coffee mill. The negro girl and the rosy-cheeked daughter of the house were both very busy hurrying up the fire, putting on the kettles of water, making biscuits, and attending to the various culinary duties. "Where is your husband?" asked Corporal Grimm. "None of your business," was the quick reply. "Where are your sons?" asked Grimm. "In Jeff Davis' army, to shoot just such thieves as you are." "How long have they been in Jeff Davis' army?" "Ever since the war commenced." "How old is this hen I am picking?" "I hope she is old enough and tough enough to choke ye to death," said the women, giving the coffee mill a furious rap. "Your husband must be a very happy man," said Corporal Grimm. "If he was here, you wouldn't be very happy," she replied, testily. "No, I am happier with his amiable spouse." "There, I hope that'll pizen ye," she said, emptying the ground coffee into a coffee-pot, and pouring boiling water over it. "Make it strong enough to bear up an iron wedge," said Corporal Grimm; then, addressing his men: "Watch the old vixen, for she may pizen us if she gets a chance." The men needed no second bidding, and as the cooking progressed, they watched more keenly. They were all very hungry, yet none wanted to be poisoned. Breakfast being prepared, the reluctant hostess was compelled to eat with the soldiers, who, being thus convinced that none of the viands were poisoned, did full justice to the really excellent meal. CHAPTER XIII. UNCLE DAN MEANS BUSINESS. Colonel Scrabble found his forces, when the attacking party had retired, somewhat scattered. With Lieutenant Whimple he had sought safety in a hollow tree, whence, after waiting four hours, he issued orders to the lieutenant to go forth and see if the Federal troops had retreated. The lieutenant took a circuitous route, walking on tiptoe, lest he should disturb the slumbers of the dead, until he reached the camp, which the Union soldiers had just left.