"You're getting tired too soon," said George. "We will be here some time yet." He was quite right, for it was not until dusk that they dared leave their curious refuge. Sometimes they stood up, when they got absolutely desperate, and had it not been that the tall hedge protected him, the head of Watson would assuredly have been seen from the Peyton mansion. At last they cautiously abandoned the hogshead, and crept into the pines in front of them. When it was pitch dark the fugitives pushed forward in a northwestwardly direction, until they reached a log cabin, at a distance of about four miles from their point of departure. Within the place a light was cheerily burning. "Shall we knock at the door?" asked Watson, in some doubt. "I'm very hungry," laughed George. "I think I could risk knocking anywhere--if I could only get something to eat." "Well, we might as well be hung for sheep as lambs," observed Watson. "Let us try it." He had begun to think that it was only the question of a few hours before he and George would be in the hands of the enemy. They knocked at the door. It was half opened by a long, lanky man, with a scraggy chin-beard, who looked like the customary pictures of "Uncle Sam." "What is it?" he asked the travelers. There was a sound of voices within. Was it prudent to play the blind man once again? Or had this fellow heard of the excitement at the Peyton mansion? Watson bethought himself of a method of finding out whether or not he should be endowed with sight. "Are we anywhere near Squire Peyton's?" he demanded. "'Bout four miles off, or five miles by the road along the creek," said this Southern "Uncle Sam." "Do you know if he's living at his place now?" "He was there three days ago, whan I driv over ta sell him some shotes," returned "Uncle Sam." "Reckon he must be there still." "Humph!" thought Watson; "this fellow hasn't heard anything about the Peyton _fracas_. I'll lose my sight once again." He clutched George's hand in a helpless fashion, and poured forth a tale of woe. He was blind and poor, he said; he and his nephew (meaning George) were in need of food and shelter. "I'll sing for you," said George. "Tarnation pumpkins," cried Uncle Sam; "I hate squalin'. But come in. I never shut my door on anybody." He opened the door the whole way. The two Northerners and the dog walked into the dazzling light made by a great wood-fire--and confronted five Confederate soldiers and an officer who were toasting their feet at the hearth! They all glanced at the newcomers, who dearly regretted, when too late, that they had entered. The officer stared first at Watson and then at George with the air of a man who is searching for some one. Uncle Sam introduced them to the party in a manner more vigorous than polite. "Here's a couple o' beggars," he said. "Ma, get 'em somethin' to eat!"