Jacquelin, however, was so anxious to get home that, notwithstanding the pressing invitations of his friends, he accepted the offer of the Federal officers, and, after getting a cup of coffee from Andy’s cousin—who said it was the first she had had in three years—he was helped up in the ambulance and was driven off. The company, it seemed, had come up from the city the day before and had encamped a little below the station, and was marching to Brutusville, where it was to be posted. Julius, General Legaie’s old butler, met them near the court-house and plunged out in the mud and wrung Jacquelin’s hand, thanking God for his return. The old butler was on the lookout for his master, who had not come home yet, and about whom he was beginning to be very uneasy. The General had gone South somewhere “to keep on fightin’,” Julius told Jacquelin, and he invited him to come by and spend the night, and offered to go on himself and let his mother know he had come. The old fellow, in his best clothes—a high hat and an old blue coat with brass buttons—and with his best manners, caused much amusement to the soldiers, and Lieutenant Thurston undertook to tease him. “You haven’t any master now,” he said. The old servant looked at him. “I ain’t? Does you think I’se a free nigger?” he asked, sharply, “‘Cause I ain’t!” “Yes, but I mean we’ve taken your master prisoner.” “You is?” He looked at him again keenly. “Nor, you ain’t. It’ll teck a bigger man’n you to teck my master prisoner—And he ain’ big as you nuther,” he said, with a snap of his eyes. “He ain’t de kind dat s’renders.” “We’ll have to stand in on this together,” said the little Lieutenant across to Jacquelin, as the laugh went round; and then to Julius, with a wave of his hand toward Jacquelin, “Well, what do you say to that gentleman’s having surrendered?” The old darky was quick enough, however. “He was shot, and besides _you_ never got him. I know you never got nigh enough to him in battle to shoot him.” “I think you’ll have to go this alone,” said Jacquelin. The Lieutenant admitted himself routed. Late that evening Jacquelin’s ambulance was toiling up the hill to Red Rock, while the troop of cavalry, sent to keep order in that section, with its tents pitched in the court-house yard under the big trees, were taking a survey of the place they had come to govern. Little Thurston, who, as they rode in, had caught sight of a plump young girl gazing at them from the open door of the old clerk’s office, with mingled curiosity and defiance, declared that it was not half as bad as some places he had been in in the South. At that moment, as it happened, Miss Elizabeth Dockett, the young lady in question, daughter of Mr. Dockett, the old County Clerk, was describing to her mother the little Lieutenant as the most ridiculous and odious-looking little person in the world.