By this time it had grown dark, and I was unable to find my way. I walked for at least half an hour, and then realized that I was lost. I stopped and took in the situation. The light I could no longer sight. There I was, lost in the swamps of Florida. What was I to do? To my right I sighted through the darkness an object which looked like a mound of some description. On investigating it proved to be a haystack. This, indeed, afforded a great treat, for in the side of it I burrowed a hole where I buried myself for the night. Being tired and sore from my two days' journey, I did not move from my comfortable nest until fully three hours after sunrise. I yawned, stretched my rested limbs, rubbed my eyes, and crawled out of my warm, cozy nest into the sunlight. Strapping on the sweater, with its contents, I struck across the field for the railroad, and hit a slow pace over the cross-ties down the track. Boys are always hungry, and justly so when they haven't had breakfast. Sighting a little cottage which sat back only a few rods from the railroad, I strolled up to the back door and rapped. A lady opened it to me, and when I told my tale, she invited me into the kitchen, where I sat down at a table, and relished a nice breakfast. Goodness! but it did taste good. As I sat there devouring my food, she asked me many questions concerning myself. This put me in a serious mood, and when she began talking about home and those I had left behind, a great lump formed in my throat, and a big cruel tear rolled down my cheek. I did not wish to let her know she had touched a tender cord, so I said, "There is something in my eye," at the same time rubbing it and drying the tears with my handkerchief. She was a good woman, and those soft, tender words would have brought tears to the eyes of a hardened criminal, much less a very youthful modern soldier of fortune. She became interested in me, and related the sad story of her son. Only a few months previous, he had run away from home and had been killed while riding on a freight train in Georgia. She pointed out to me his lonely grave, which was at the edge of a little clump of pines, just across the field. My heart went out to her in warm-felt sympathy, and bowing my head, I uncovered and went out into the lonely world, thinking of that poor heart-stricken mother. About noon I walked into a typical swamp town, the one room station being the principal building, and drew myself up on a pile of cross ties, just across the track. There I sat in deep meditation. Two or three little children who were playing in the station yard came over and stood looking and jeering at me. They ran, however, when I muttered several mild threats, and made as though I was going to pursue them. It was not long before I heard the whistle of a locomotive in the still distance.