"I don't believe in Mr. Davis' doctrine," says the old man, "of fighting in the last ditch till everybody's dead. We were the most prosperous, happy people on the earth, and we had better go back and be so again than be killed." "Yes, indeed!" says the old lady; "we had better not; and if we were, there would be nobody left for our girls to marry but northerners; so the South would get to be the North in no time." Our room is a large one, with another large fire and three beds. The doctor takes one, and I hand the others over to the men; it will not do for me to undress, so I take my buffalo, and lie down by the fire. I was beginning to doze, and thinking I never was so comfortable in my life--it was so delightful to shut your eyes and stretch yourself out, and feel the pleasant warmth of this glowing, flickering fire, when the opening of the door startles me, and I see the sergeant, who is "on guard," come in. He reports that two men on horseback came up from Paris; one of them stopped and called out our host. They had a long conversation in a low voice, and then the man turned and rode back on a gallop. "And the contrabands say that the old man is secesh," pursues the sergeant, "and when the rebel troops went by, he made them come out and hurrah." This is agreeable. Was the man on horseback a picket, and will there be a troop clattering down on us in a few minutes? or has he gone to raise a crowd of irresponsible countrymen, who will think it fine fun to kill us and capture our horses, and of whom Gen. Beauregard will say, he really knows nothing, they were not soldiers, and acted without authority? Is our old friend false to us? "Sergeant, what do you think of it?" The sergeant is a shrewd judge of character, and there is no one in the squadron whose opinion I would regard more highly on such a point as this. He comes up close to the fire, and I see his face has a very anxious expression, and he says, after a long pause: "I don't know what to think of it." "Well, go back and pick out a place where you can see up the Paris road, and call me the instant you see any object moving. Doctor, I say, did you hear that?" "Yes, and I don't know what to think of it" says the doctor. "Can anything be done?" "The worst of it is, doctor, that the flag prevents our doing anything till actually attacked. We must now go in the character of guests, professing entire faith. If we were on ordinary duty, our sergeant would have stopped that man, and I should keep him here till we leave. As it is, we can neither fight nor run away--though it is hardly fair, as you are a non-combatant, to make you risk it." "I think I will risk it if you do," says the doctor; and he turns over and goes to sleep.