“Are there any soldiers near here?” was the young Confederate’s next question. “No, massa; leas’wise, I ain’t seed none.” “Any house close by?” At this question the negro hesitated. “Da is a cabin over yander, massa. But da ain’t nobody dar ’cusin’ an ole woman most unable ter do anyt’ing.” “Show me the way and I’ll make it right with you. What is your name?” “Tom, sah, Tom Crosby.” “And where do you belong?” “About ten miles north o’ yere, massa.” “Well, Tom, take me to the cabin at once. And mind, we are not to be surprised by any Union soldiers, do you understand?” “Yes, massa; ain’t no sodgers in dese parts, massa.” The negro moved back, along a well-defined trail, and Andy followed on foot, leading Firefly by the bridle. The young Confederate knew only too well that he was upon the enemy’s soil and upon dangerous ground, but for this there was no help. Crossing the river was impossible just now, and he was chilled to the marrow and felt he must have a chance to warm himself and dry his clothing if he wished to avoid a dangerous spell of sickness. A distance of two hundred yards was covered, and they emerged upon a small clearing, in the center of which stood a log cabin built of wood with the bark left on, and having at one end a broad stone chimney. Smoke was curling from the latter, a most welcome sight to the shivering youth. Without waiting, the negro led the way inside of the cabin, where a woman who looked to be at least seventy years of age was huddled before the open fireplace, smoking a black-looking clay pipe, filled with “tar-heel” tobacco. She looked in amazement at the intruders. “Thought you wasn’t comin’ back?” she cried, to the negro. “Dis gem’man made me come,” was the answer. “What do you want?” “My horse and I fell into the river, madam,” answered Andy. “I wish to warm myself and dry my clothing, that is all. And if you can furnish me with a bowl of hot coffee or something like that, I’ll pay you for it.” “Humph!” The old woman took several long puffs at her pipe. “Ain’t got no coffee in the house.” “You have tea, then?” “I reckon I have, but--” “I’ll take a bowl of tea. Anything so long as it’s warm. Tom?” “Yes, massa.” “Will you rub down my horse and see if you can stir up something for him to eat?” “Yes, massa.” “I see there is a shed over to the left. Put him in there.” “Yes, massa.” The negro hurried out, and watching him, Andy saw him do as directed. The old woman had meanwhile bestirred herself and set her kettle to boiling. She saw that he was a Confederate soldier, but this caused her no anxiety, for she was too old, and lived too near the border line, to take a stand in the great controversy.