“No, a Yankee trick, a real good one. Now listen, Calhoun, and I will tell you all about how I am going to get you away. Some six miles from here a colored man lives whom my father has greatly befriended. He will do anything for me I ask. I shall tell him you are a sick soldier, and for good reasons wish to remain in hiding until you get well.” “Will he know I am one of Morgan’s men?” asked Calhoun. “No, he will think you are a Federal soldier. Calhoun, as much as you may hate it, you must don the Union Blue.” “That would make a spy of me. No, it wouldn’t either, if I kept clear of any military post.” “That’s good. I have a Federal uniform in the house, which will about fit you. A friendless soldier died here a short time ago. We took him in and cared for him during his last sickness. He had been discharged for wounds received at Fair Oaks. Here is the discharge. I think it fits you close enough, so it may be of use to you.” She handed him the discharge; he took it and read: “James Brown, age nineteen; height five feet nine inches; weight one hundred and sixty pounds; complexion dark; hair and eyes black.” “Why, Joyce, with that in my pocket, and wearing a Federal uniform, I could travel anywhere in the North.” “So I thought. We will cheat that old prison yet. But it is time you were asleep.” “God bless you, Joyce,” replied Calhoun. “Give me a kiss before you go.” She smiled and threw him one as she went out and he had to be content with that. She had not stopped to consider what the result might be if she helped Calhoun to escape. Her only thought was to save him from going to prison. To do this she would dare anything. The colored man of whom she spoke was to be at the farm in the morning to do some work. A fear had seized her that she might be too late. The fear was well grounded. The authorities at Columbus had resolved to move Calhoun at once. The request of Doctor Hopkins, that he be allowed to remain two weeks longer, although he said he could be removed without danger, aroused their suspicion. Not only that, but the letter of Andrew Harmon to Mr. Crawford had alarmed that gentleman, and he was already on his way home. Abram Prather, the colored man, was seen by Joyce as soon as he made his appearance. “Missy Joyce, I jes’ do enything fo’ yo.’ Me an’ de ol’ woman will keep him all right.” So everything was arranged. Joyce breathed freer, yet she waited impatiently for the night. CHAPTER XXI. THE ESCAPE.