"So you are Northern spies, are you?" she hissed. "And you come here telling us a story about your being so fond of the South that you must travel all the way from Kentucky to fight for her." She threw the letter on the supper-table, while her eyes flashed. Watson saw that the time of concealment had passed. His identity was apparent; he was in the very centre of the enemy's country; his life hung in the balance. He could not even defend himself save by his hands, for the pistol which he carried in his hip-pocket had been rendered temporarily useless by his passage across the river. Even if he had possessed a whole brace of pistols, he would not have harmed one hair of this kindly minister's head. "I _am_ a Northerner," said Watson, "and I _am_ one of the men who stole a train at Big Shanty this morning. We got within a few miles of Chattanooga, and then had to abandon our engine, because we were trapped. We tried to burn bridges, but we failed. We did no more than any Southerners would have done in the North under the same circumstances." It was at this point that George awoke. He saw at once that something was wrong but he prudently held his tongue, and listened. "You are a spy," reiterated Miss Cynthia, "and you know what the punishment for that must be--North or South!" "Of course I know the punishment," said Watson, with deliberation. "A scaffold--and a piece of rope." The minister shuddered. "They wouldn't hang the boy, would they?" asked his wife anxiously. Mr. Buckley was about to answer, when Miss Cynthia suddenly cried, "Listen!" Her sharp ears had detected some noise outside the house. She left the room, ran to the front door, and was back again in a minute. "Some of the neighbors are out with dogs and lanterns, looking, I'm sure, for the spies," she announced excitedly, "and they are coming up the lane!" The first impulse of Watson was to seize George, and run from the house. But he realized, the next instant, how useless this would be; he could even picture the boy being shot down by an overwhelming force of pursuers. "They are coming this way," said Mr. Buckley, almost mournfully, as the sound of voices could now be plainly heard from the cozy kitchen. "We are in your hands," said Watson, calmly. He turned to the minister. "You are fighting against my country, which I love more dearly than life itself," answered Mr. Buckley. "I can have no sympathy for you!" His face was very white; there was a troubled look in his kindly eyes. "But they will be hung, father!" cried the blue-eyed daughter. "I'm ashamed of you, Rachel," said Miss Cynthia. Mrs. Buckley said nothing. She seemed to be struggling with a hundred conflicting emotions. Waggie ran to her, as if he considered her a friend, and put his forepaws on her dress. "Are you going to give us up?" asked Watson. "I am a loyal Southerner," returned the minister, very slowly, "and I know what my duty is. Why should I shield you?" Watson turned to George.