“Hit ain' all nigger food, no how,” added Big Abel reflectively, “caze de 'ooman she done steal it f'om w'ite folks sho's you bo'n.” “I only wish she had been tempted to steal some bread along with it,” rejoined Dan. Big Abel's answer was to draw a hoecake wrapped in an old newspaper from his pocket and place it on a short pine stump. Then he reached for his jack-knife and carefully slit the hoecake down the centre, after which he laid the bacon in slices between the crusts. “Did she steal that, too?” inquired Dan laughing. “Naw, suh, I stole dis.” “Well, I never! You'll be ashamed to look the Major in the face when the war is over.” Big Abel nodded gloomily as he passed the sandwich to Dan, who divided it into two equal portions. “Dar's somebody got ter do de stealin' in dis yer worl',” he returned with rustic philosophy, “des es dar's somebody got ter be w'ite folks en somebody got ter be nigger, caze de same pusson cyarn be ner en ter dat's sho'. Dar ain' 'oom fer all de yerth ter strut roun' wid dey han's in dey pockets en dey nose tu'nt up des caze dey's hones'. Lawd, Lawd, ef I'd a-helt my han's back f'om pickin' en stealin' thoo dis yer wah, whar 'ould you be now--I ax you dat?” Catching a dried branch the flame shot up suddenly, and he sat relieved against the glow, like a gigantic statue in black basalt. “Well, all's fair in love and war,” replied Dan, adjusting himself to changed conditions. “If that wasn't as true as gospel, I should be dead to-morrow from this fat bacon.” Big Abel started up. “Lis'en ter dat ole hoot owl,” he exclaimed excitedly, “he's a-settin' right over dar on dat dead limb a-hootin' us plum in de mouf. Ain' dat like 'em, now? Is you ever seed sech airs as dey put on?” He strode off into the darkness, and Dan, seized with a sudden homesickness for the army, lay down beside his musket and fell asleep. III THE CABIN IN THE WOODS At daybreak they took up the march again, Dan walking slowly, with his musket striking the ground and his arm on Big Abel's shoulder. Where the lane curved in the hollow, they came upon a white cottage, with a woman milking a spotted cow in the barnyard. As she caught sight of them, she waved wildly with her linsey apron, holding the milk pail carefully between her feet as the spotted cow turned inquiringly. “Go 'way, I don't want no stragglers here,” she cried, as one having authority. Leaning upon the fence, Dan placidly regarded her. “My dear madam, you commit an error of judgment,” he replied, pausing to argue. With the cow's udder in her hand the woman looked up from the streaming milk. “Well, ain't you stragglers?” she inquired. Dan shook his head reproachfully. “What air you, then?” “Beggars, madam.”