That afternoon a slave carried a note from Mrs. Lemming to the nearest Union camp. In this she stated that the prisoner left at her house was now almost well and had desired to be turned over to the proper authorities. She added that he was not much more than a boy, and she trusted that the commandant would treat him with as little harshness as possible, and that if he could have him exchanged for a Union prisoner in the near future, she would consider it a special favor, for the prisoner had acted so gentlemanly during his illness that he had quite won her heart. On receiving this note the captain in charge smiled grimly. “All woman’s bosh,” he muttered. “We’ll soon have the young rebel behind the bars and give him a taste of how Union men are treated in their own foul prisons.” It was not yet sundown when he detailed a guard of three soldiers to bring Andy to the camp. The soldiers started off on foot, and having to tramp a distance of three miles over rather rough roads, reached Mrs. Lemming’s place an hour later. “So this is the young rebel, eh,” said the sergeant in charge. “All right, we have a description of him on file. Come on.” “In a moment,” answered Andy, and shook hands with Mrs. Lemming, Viola, and the younger girl. “Good-by, and remember, I shall never forget your kindness. You’ll have a little more ease, I fancy, now you are no longer responsible for my safe-keeping,” he added, with peculiar emphasis, which, however, no one but Viola noticed. “I shall regret having you go,” answered Mrs. Lemming. Viola said nothing more just then, but turned and re-entered the house. In a second more Andy was off, with the sergeant ahead and a soldier upon each side of him. “I guess you’ll remember the sweet time you had there when you’re in a regular prison,” remarked one of the soldiers, in an effort to twit the lad. “You won’t have no sech soft bits of calico to look after you, I’ll warrant you that!” The end of the plantation grounds had hardly been reached when Viola came rushing along the path, calling to Andy to stop. He halted, turned and took several steps toward her. “Here is a silk neckerchief for you,” she said, handing over the gift, and then she added in a whisper, while her face was crimson: “You are no longer responsible to us--the neckerchief contains a pistol--_escape if you can_!” Before the astonished young Confederate could reply, she was speeding back to the house. Although nearly dumbfounded, Andy did not lose his wits. He turned his back to the soldiers, slipped the little silver-mounted weapon, which had belonged to Mrs. Lemming, into his bosom, and waved the silk cloth in the air. “Thank you, and good-bye for the last time!” he cried, and gave himself up once more, and the march forward proceeded. One of the soldiers would have taken the neckerchief away from him, but the sergeant, though rough, was too fair-minded to allow anything of such a nature to take place.