"I didn't think you was afraid of anything, sir, after that day at Cedar Mountain, when the officers kep' ordering you to the rear, and you wouldn't budge a peg." A faint color crept into the chaplain's sallow face. This humble and unstudied tribute pleased him. The sergeant was a strict disciplinarian, and knew better than to stand too long talking with his officer, so he touched his cap and moved on. When he reached the prison, it was already dark. He walked through the long corridor until he reached Kaintuck's cell, in which a lamp--a rare luxury--was burning. To the sergeant's surprise, Kaintuck was up and dressed and sitting on the narrow bed. On his knees was a large new Bible which the chaplain had given him, but which he was not reading. His strange eyes were fixed on the door, and when the sergeant's big figure filled up the doorway, something like joy flashed into his maimed face. He got up and shuffled over to meet the sergeant. "Why, sergeant," he cried, "I thought you had forgot me!" "No, I ain't forgot you," answered the sergeant kindly; "but the chaplain told me you was goin' to give us the slip. You don't look like it, though." The shadow of a smile showed itself in Kaintuck's eyes. He had a sort of primitive humor that delighted in surprises. "Well, I am," he remarked, after a moment; "I feel it. I felt it the minute I got--her letter." Something in his slow soft tone struck the sergeant and stopped the protest on his lips. Kaintuck's life had hung on a thread for the best part of two years, and since he continued to live with great obstinacy in spite of the doctors, he might now die in defiance of them. "I'll tell you," he said, coming up closer to the sergeant and speaking in a distressed and hurried voice; "I ain't told none of 'em--not even the preacher, and he is a good man if he _is_ a preacher. You see, Mary--that's her name--I just called her Polly for a nickname--she's heard down in Jo Daviess County, Kaintucky, that I warn't dead, and she wrote me a letter sayin' she was comin' to me as soon as she was able--for the news kinder upset her, and she always was one of the high-strung kind--and she's goin' to bring my boy--he's named William, and that's my name--but, sergeant--" Kaintuck seized the sergeant's arm and gripped it hard. Meanwhile at the mention of Jo Daviess County the sergeant had turned a little pale, and he grew paler and paler as Kaintuck kept on.