And, putting Tom’s limp arm around his own neck, Ned managed with some difficulty to carry him a few steps to the river’s brink. “There, Tom,” he said, “I’ll bathe your head for you, poor fellow!” “Here is the river,” said Tom; “and we are going to see mother in a boat. It’s a dangerous thing, Ned, to cross on that beam. OBEY ORDERS! And now it is too late, too late! God only knows whether I shall ever see my mother again.” And now, as Tom became quiet once more, Ned sat there, and bathed his head; and the river continued the noise of its rushing waters, and the wavelets splashed gently upon the shore, and against the wooden sides of the boat,――the boat! And now for the first time Ned saw the means of deliverance within his power. The idea fairly swept over his mind. To put Tom into the boat, and gain the other side, would be the work of a few moments only: and it could be done; for the rebel squad was dispersed along the shore, and the one man who sat by the fire a few yards off seemed fast asleep. But then, even as the thought of a possibility of freedom for Tom made him exultant, there came the recollection of his parole. He still sat by Tom’s side, and mechanically now smoothed back the hair from his forehead, and as mechanically repeated to himself, “word of honor, word of honor, word of honor,” until the very leaves upon the trees seemed to rustle in rhythm with the cadence; and then, with this dull, heavy oppression on his mind, the words seemed to turn into French and Latin and Greek, and to make new and fantastic combinations in his brain. “God help me!” he groaned. “I am going mad.” And then he knelt and prayed; and still the river rushed along, and still that one black figure sat there by the fire, as if half asleep. Then Ned saw him move slowly, and heard him whisper hoarsely, “Colonel! Colonel!” “Do you mean me?” asked Ned. “Yes. Speak softer, and come up here.” Wondering and confused, Ned obeyed. The man turned a rough, unshaven face to him, and said:―― “You don’t know me, I see?” “No,” said Ned. “I know you, though. Mighty peart you be now; but you wasn’t so three weeks ago. You was took pretty sick then, and lying in a hospittle.” “Well, what of it?” said Ned. “Well, you’re a stoutish kind of man now, ain’t you? But, Lord!” and the fellow laughed to himself, “I could just chaw you up in no time. I should kinder like to have a gouge at you, anyway.” “Thank you,” said Ned; “but if that is all you have to say, I shall have to leave you, and attend to my friend.” “You’re a real perlite man,” said the man, in a wondering sort of way; “and yet you’re a Yank. You must attend to your friend. That’s fair; and why? Because when you was sick, he took care of you. I see it; I was in the hospittle likewise at the time. I had just got up as you was took down. Don’t yer remember me?” “No,” said Ned, impatiently.