The room in which we were sitting was that which had been taken for Milicent’s and my bedroom. Captain Locke got up, walked to the door and locked it. “You have needles and thread, I think, ladies?” Milicent and I immediately produced them and slipped on our thimbles. He handed Milicent his open knife. “Rip the papers out of your muff, Mrs. Norman, and you, little madam, let me have those I gave you.” The two I had were hidden in my sleeve. While Milicent and I were getting the papers out, I heard Mr. Holliway say: “Burn those papers, Locke. You can never get them to Baltimore, and you know in what fearful peril they keep us.” “I might as well turn back if I burn them,” said the captain. “I take those papers to Baltimore, or I die trying--and I won’t die.” “Excuse the trouble I give you, ladies,” he said, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet on another. “Will you open the hems of my trousers and sew those papers inside? It is a great favor.” We ripped each hem, folded the papers inside as flat as possible, and sewed the hems up again. I had not made over Dan’s old uniform for nothing, and Milicent was always a skilful needlewoman--our hems looked quite natural and not at all “stuffed.” But we were so nervous that we worked very slowly, for we felt that a wrong stitch might cost Captain Locke his life. He had worn his trousers turned up around the bottom to keep them out of the mud. When we had finished he carefully turned them back again, Mr. Holliway looking on gloomily. “Now, ladies,” said the captain cheerfully, “we will all retire and get a good night’s rest. You have had a hard day and I am sure you must be tired.” “Aren’t you going away?” we asked anxiously. “What did you take the papers for?” He smiled. “Little madam,” he said, “you had best go to bed and get a good night’s rest. That is what I am going to do. Mrs. Norman, make this poor child go to bed. And you will promise me to try to rest too, won’t you?” There was a rap on the door. CHAPTER XIII A LAST FAREWELL Mr. Holliway opened it to admit the Dutchman. “Shentlemen,” he began earnestly, “tey haf got te leetle Chew poy trunk mit giffin’ him visky, unt he haf tolt everyding. I pe your vrent. You mus’ get avay pefore mitnight.” “The little Jew knows nothing to tell,” said the captain. “His drunken babble is not worth attention. We can not leave my sisters.” “How you help tem by stayin’? I gif you my vort dat tey vill get to Paltimore all right. I hates to see tem Yankees takes you up in mine house.”