“Take your men in,” he said to a lieutenant. “Report at headquarters and say I shall be there in an hour.” He lifted the twins from their perches and bade the three enter his hut. “This is my home, boys. Come in.” It was a tiny log cabin with a stone-built chimney and a big fire; wood alone was to be had--in plenty. The twins felt better after he gave them in turn a teaspoonful or two of whiskey in water, laughed at their wry faces as they drank, set Harry on his knee, patted him on the back, and bade them make free of his stale biscuit and the potatoes he roasted in the hot ashes. The twins, as they got warm in this pleasant company, talked of their adventures. Tom sat in silence. “What’s the matter?” asked McLane, getting only “Yes” and “no” to his queries. “I am thinking, sir, of my mother. Oh, but she will be troubled. I never thought of that when----” “Be easy, my lad. To-morrow I am going into the city. I shall see her. When you can get back, I do not know, but you will see the camp and the troops and get your share of a trooper’s fare. When you are warm I want you to come with me, Tom.” “Yes, sir. I am ready now.” With a word to the twins he followed the Captain through the darkness. The men were huddled around campfires and were cooking their scanty rations of pork and potatoes. Presently McLane paused at the door of a small stone house, the only one in the lines. A sentry walked to and fro before it. McLane went in and said to an officer: “Mr. Tilghman, ask the General to see me. It is important.” In a few minutes the officer returned. “This way,” he said. Tom saw seated before the fire a large man in buff-and-blue uniform. He rose, saying, “What news have you, Captain?” “This lad, sir, brought from the town at some peril this map and sketch. It seems to be some one’s notion of an attack.” The tall officer put the sketch aside, but as he considered the map he said, looking up: “This is Major Montresor’s own map and is invaluable. What is your name, my boy?” “I’m a son of Colonel Markham, sir.” “A most gallant officer. And how, my lad, did you happen to get this map?” Tom was a little disturbed by this authoritative gentleman. Being a boy, he had, of course, been left standing, while McLane and the tall man were seated. He understood that he must stand until requested to sit, but it did add a little to a certain embarrassment, rare for Tom. “Tell your story, Tom,” said McLane. “Well, sir, the horses ran away, and the map was in the sleigh.” Tom stopped. Action, not speech, was his gift, then and later. “It is not very clear, but the lad is tired.” “Yes, sir,” said Tom, without the least boy desire to describe what was a bold and dangerous adventure. “Never mind your story now. Captain McLane will tell me later. You are a brave lad, and if God had given me one like you I should have been glad.” Tom felt somehow that he was well rewarded.