Tom was determined to put himself upon his impudence on the present occasion; but he satisfied himself that his revolver was in condition for instant use before he proceeded any farther. Passing from the front room to an apartment in the rear, he found a lamp and matches, and concluded that he would have some light on the subject, which was duly obtained. Leaving this room, he entered another, which proved to be the kitchen. A patient search revealed to him the lurking place of a cold roast chicken, some fried bacon, bread, and crackers. Placing these things on the table, he seated himself to partake of the feast which the forethought of the occupants had provided for him. Tom began to be entirely at home, for having thrown himself on his impudence now; he did not permit any doubts or fears to disturb him; but the handle of his pistol protruded from between the buttons of his coat. He ate till he had satisfied himself, when he happened to think that the coffee pot he had seen in the closet might contain some cold coffee; and he brought it out. He was not disappointed, and even found sugar and milk. He poured out a bowl of the beverage, and, having prepared it to his taste, was about to conclude the feast in this genteel style, when he heard footsteps in the adjoining entry. Tom determined not to be cheated out of his coffee, and instead of putting himself in a flurry, he took the bowl in one hand and the pistol in the other. The door opened, and a negro timidly entered the room. "Well, sar!" said the servant, as he edged along the side of the room. "Hem! Well, sar!" Tom took no notice of him, but continued to drink his coffee as coolly as though he had been in his mother's cottage at Pinchbrook. "Hem! Well, sar!" repeated the negro, who evidently wished to have the interloper take some notice of him. But the soldier boy refused to descend from his dignity or his impudence. He finished the bowl of coffee as deliberately as though the darkey had been somewhere else. "Well, sar! Who's you, sar?" "Eh, Blackee?" "Who's you, sar?" "Good chicken! Good bread! Good bacon!" added Tom. "Are the folks at home, Blackee?" "No, sar; nobody but de women folks, sar. Who's you, sar?" "It don't make much difference who I am. Where's your master?" "Gone to Richmond, sar. He's member ob Congress." "Then he's in poor business, Blackee," said Tom, as he took out his handkerchief, and proceeded to transfer the remnants of his supper to its capacious folds. "Better luff dem tings alone, sar." But Tom refused to "luff dem alone," and when he had placed them on the handkerchief, he made a bundle of them. "Golly, sar! I'll tell my missus what's gwine on down here," added the servant, as he moved towards the door. "See here, Blackee," interposed Tom, pointing his pistol at the negro; "if you move, I'll put one of these balls through your skull." "De Lud sabe us, massa! Don't shoot dis nigger, massa." "Hold your tongue then, and mind what I say."