“So I perceive,” I answered, my own spirits high. “The long night of fasting must have left quite a vacancy.” “I vos like a cistern in mein insides, by Chiminy.” “No doubt; well, I am rather hungry myself. Mrs. Bungay, in memory of old times cannot you spare me a plate? If so, I will take pleasure in joining your happy company. Thank you. I see you have found your man.” She glared down the table, and the little fellow visibly shrank. “I have thet, sir,” she answered grimly, “an' I reckon as how he's likely ter stay et hum arter this.” “But you forget he is my guide,” I protested, not disinclined to test her temper. “Surely, Mrs. Bungay, you would not deprive the South of his valuable service?” “An' wouldn't I, now? An' didn't thet little whiffit promise me long afore he ever did you uns? Ain't he my nat'ral pertecter? Whut's a lone female a goin' ter dew yere in ther mountings wi'out no man?” Her eyes flashed angrily at me. “Suah, an' if it's jist fightin' as he wants so bad I reckon as how he kin git it et hum wi'out goin' ter no war--anyhow ye kin bet I don't give him up, now I got my hand on him agin, fer ther whole kit an' caboodle of ye. He bean't much ter look et, likely, but he 's my man, an' I reckon as how ther Lord giv' him ter me ter take keer of.” “Really, Mrs. Bungay,” I insisted, “of course it will prove exceedingly disagreeable to me, and I shall greatly regret being compelled to do anything of the kind, but it is undoubtedly my duty to place Jed under guard and carry him back to camp with me.” “But suah, an' ye won't, Captain dear?” she pleaded, entirely changing her tone. “Whut good is thet little whiffit ter you uns? There's never so much as a decent fight in him thet I've found in twenty years. Maybe ye think as how I'm jist a bit hard on him; but he's thet gay at times thet he drives me fair crazy. Every lick I ever give him wus fer his own good. Suah now, an' ye never would run off with my man?” “Come, Jed, what do you say? Are you tired fighting the battles of the Confederacy, and prefer those of home?” “'Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, Ellen and I will seek, apart, The refuge of some forest cell, There like the hunted quarry dwell, Till on the mountain and the moor, The stern pursuit be passed and o'er,'” he quoted humbly. “I like ter read all 'bout fightin' well 'nough, but durn it, Cap, it kinder hurts whin they hits ye on ther head with a gun.” His face lit up suddenly. “'Sides, I sorter wanter hev Mariar git 'quainted with thet thar muel o' mine, Beelzebub.” “But you've lost him.” “Nary a durn loss; ye jist can't lose thet muel, he's too blame ornary. He's out thar now, hitched ter a tree, an' a eatin' fit ter bust his biler--never a durn mark on his hide fer all he wint through.”