“Well, what would you do?” Leech asked after waiting a moment for Jacquelin to proceed.” You hear what he says, Sergeant?” He addressed the bluff, red-haired Irishman who wore a sergeant’s chevrons. “Sames to me he says nothin’ at all,” said the Sergeant, who was the same man that had had charge of the ambulance in which Jacquelin had been brought home the day he arrived, and who had been a little grumpy ever since he had been put under Leech’s command. “Arrest him and if he offers any resistance, tie him securely to a tree outside,” ordered Leech. “Does Captain Middleton know of this?” Jacquelin asked the Sergeant. “Well, you see, it’s arders from headquarrters, an’ I guess the Cap’n thaught bayin’ a ferrut was a little more in _his_ line.” The Sergeant nodded his head in the direction of Leech, who had called the other men and gone on ostentatiously with his search. [Illustration: HE CARRIED OFF IN TRIUMPH A PAIR OF OLD HORSE-PISTOLS.] Just then, however, the Provost encountered a fresh enemy. If Mrs. Cary and Miss Blair deemed it more dignified and ladylike to preserve absolute silence during this invasion, Mammy Krenda had no such inconvenient views. The old woman had nursed both Mrs. Cary and her daughter. She was, indeed, what her title implied, and had all her life held the position of a member of the family. In her master’s absence she considered herself responsible, and she had followed Leech from room to room, dogging his every step, and now, emboldened by Jacquelin’s presence, she burst forth, pouring out on the Provost the vials of her wrath which, instead of being exhausted by use, gathered volume and virulence with every minute. “Yaas, I know jest what sort you is,” she said, mockingly: “you is the sort o’ houn’-dog that ain’t got sperit enough to fight even a ole hyah, let alone a coon; but comes sneakin’ into folks’ kitchen, tryin’ to steal a scrap from chillerns’ mouths when folks’ backs air turned! I ain’t talkin’ to you all,” she explained, with ready tact, to the squad of privates who showed in their countenances some appreciation of her homely, but apt illustration; “I know you all’s got to do it if you’ marsters tell’s you to. Nor, I’m talkin’ to him. I declare I’m right glad my marster ain’t at home; I’m feared he’d sile his shoe kickin’ yer dutty body out de do’.” She stood with her arms akimbo, and her eyes half-closed in derision. This touch, with an ill-suppressed snicker from one of the men behind, proved too much for the leader’s self-control, and he turned in a rage: “Shut up, you black hag,” he snarled, angrily, “or I’ll—I’ll—” He paused, hunting for a threat which would appall her. “I’ll tie you to a tree outside and wear out a hickory on you.” If he thought to quell the old woman by this, however, he was mistaken. He only infuriated her the more.