This arrow went home. Cephas had the unmixed pleasure of seeing Nan turn pale. "I think you are simply awful," she gasped. "You are cruel, and you are unkind. You know very well that I care something for Gabriel. Haven't we been friends since we were children together? Do you suppose I have no feelings?" "I know what you said when I told you I was going to see Gabriel." "What was that?" inquired Nan. "Why, you said, 'Well, what is that to me?'" exclaimed Cephas. He twisted his face awry, and mimicked Nan's voice with considerable success, only he made it more spiteful than that charming young woman could have done. "Yes, I did say that, but didn't I go to your house, and tell you what to say to Gabriel?" Cephas laughed scornfully. "Did you think I was going to swallow the joke that you and that Claiborne girl hatched up between you? Do you reckon I'm fool enough to tell Gabriel that you'll die if he don't come home soon?" "You didn't tell him, then?" "No, I didn't," replied Cephas. "I would cut off one of my fingers before I'd let him know that there were people here at home making fun of him." Nan gazed at Cephas as if she suspected him of a joke. But she saw that he was very much in earnest. "I'm glad you didn't tell him," she said finally. Then she laughed, saying, "Cephas, I really did think you had a little sense." "I have sense enough not to hurt the feelings of them that like me," the boy replied. And he went on his way, trying to reconcile the Nan Dorrington who used to be so kind to him with the Nan Dorrington who was flirting and flitting around with long skirts on. He failed, as older and more experienced persons have failed. But you may be sure that he felt himself no less a hero because Nan Dorrington had hinted that he had no sense. He knew where the lack of sense was. After awhile, when interested persons ceased to run after him to get all the particulars of his visit to Fort Pulaski, he threw himself in their way, and when the details of his journey began to pall on the appetite of his friends, he invented new ones, and in this way managed to keep the centre of the stage for some time. When he could no longer interest the older folk, he had the school-children to fall back upon, and you may believe that he caused the youngsters to sit with open-mouthed wonder at the tales he told. The fact that he stammered a little, and sometimes hesitated for a word, made not the slightest difference with his audience of young people.