such guard now, however, yet the trees were thick and obscured the view, and that heavy dust cloud to the right was probably caused by the passing of a troop of horse.  Convinced that this would prove to be either a cavalry vidette, or a Federal foraging party, it made me more anxious to get quickly down into the town, hopeful they might have a spare horse with them, and I pointed out the dust spirals to my companion.

“If you have friends in Jonesboro,” I said, “I’ve also got some coming.”

“Who are they?” her eyes on the distant dust.  “Yankees?”

“Certainly; there are none of your people on that side of the river.  Beauregard is out yonder in those hills.  Let’s drive on, the town looks quiet.”

She leaned forward, holding to the edge of the carriage cover to keep her balance, her glance turning toward the southwest.

“If those are your people they mustn’t see me,” she said quietly, a little accent of pleading in her voice.  “You promise that first?”

“Of course,” although surprised at her asking.  “I know it is our orders to intercept everything which can aid the enemy, but I don’t feel inclined to prevent your taking quinine to the poor fellows in the hospital.  War hasn’t made me as inhuman as that.  We can easily reach the town ahead of that squad of cavalry, and if you have some safe place there to go, and will only keep indoors, there is no danger of discovery.”

“I have,” eagerly, “Judge Moran’s house; you can see its gable there among the trees.  He is so old he has not even been conscripted.”  She laughed, flashing a look aside at me as she shook the reins and applied the whip.  “I wonder what he will think when he sees me driving up alongside a Yankee.  It will be like the end of the world.  No, don’t talk to me any more; I’ve got to conjure up a nice, respectable story to tell him.”

She remained very quiet as we rattled down the hill, her forehead puckered, her gaze straight ahead.  Suddenly she asked,

“Do you sometimes tell falsehoods?”

“Guilty.”

“Are they ever justified?”

“Well, really I don’t know; from the standpoint of the strict moralist I presume not; but it is my judgment the strict moralist wouldn’t last long in time of war.”

I was amused at the earnestness with which she looked at me, apparently weighing my words as soberly as though they had important meaning.

“What’s the trouble?  If there is any prevaricating to be done, turn it over to me—­I have become an expert.”

“No doubt,” her face brightening, “but I must attend to this case myself.  Judge Moran will have to suppose you a Confederate spy.  No, not a word of protest will I listen to.  If you go along with me, it must be exactly as I say; there is no other way, for otherwise he would never receive you into the house.”

“Oh, very well,” I replied indifferently, my eyes marking the swift approach of that distant squad of cavalry.  “The masquerade will be short, and well worth while if it only earns me a breakfast with you.”