away, and thither Stark limped painfully, leaning hard upon his friends. They managed to reach it just in time, their horses being left to shift for themselves. They were now close to the Union lines, yet the gray pickets and patrols guarded every path. They could not hope to carry Stark through such a net-work, and he could only painfully limp and only occasionally bear a portion of his weight upon that leg. Nor could they hope to remain undiscovered another day. There was only one thing to be done. Get word through the lines to the Yankees, and beg for rescue. Stark quickly pencilled the message on tissue-paper, torn from before a picture page in the little testament he always carried. "Major Stark, crippled, Sergeant Keating, and Corporal Lawton are hiding just south of the rebel outposts. One troop of cavalry the only force nearer than Lewinsville except usual reserves. Unless rescued to-night will surely be recaptured in the morning. The bearer can guide. If possible help." This he signed officially and rolled in "Solace" tin-foil. "Now, Brennus," said he, "crawl past the rebs; get that to the Lincoln soldiers, and it's your freedom and fifty dollars to boot." We know the rest. CHAPTER XXIV. Far back along the wooded shores of the Potomac, where the mist is slowly creeping from the silent stream, the sentries are pacing the beaten path bounding each regimental camp. An odd custom, originating among the volunteers, has been the rule in several commands. Each sentry marched just fifty paces along his post in common time, then the cry "About!" would go ringing from post to post in every conceivable key and pitch, girdling one battalion with a chain of petulant yelps, another with a series of mournful groans. Fun for the sentries, and, for a time, for the camps, but a foe to soldier repose. The object was to cause the sentries to march in the same direction, and thereby prevent their turning their backs to each other, in which event there would be left unwatched a long stretch of sentry-post through which marauder might creep or roisterer escape. The custom lasted but a little while, proving more of a nuisance than a benefit. But there were three new regiments in which it obtained this lovely night, and they are brigaded with a veteran command that lords it over them because it has smelled powder and shed blood, which they have not. It is a ragged regiment, a rusty regiment, for it is still clad in the relics of the gray uniform in which its proud State sent it to the field three months before. It is saucy, and slouchy and independent, individually, as rag wearers are apt to be the world over. But it is wonderful to see that regiment brace up when it gets in line, and that is what it has done this night, without a sound beyond the low-voiced "Turn out here" of the sergeants, as they sped from tent to tent,--without confusion or even question. Ten minutes from the time the general's aide has "routed out" the colonel, he has