The repast over, Harry Powell took his leave, but promised to come
again, if possible, before leaving the vicinity. Marion saw him go with
genuine regret, and blushed painfully when, on watching him hurry down
the road, he suddenly turned and waved his hand toward her.

"Dear, good cousin Harry," she murmured. "How different from St. John!"

Two days passed and nothing of importance occurred to disturb the
Ruthven homestead. On the second day St. John called to see Marion, but
she excused herself by saying she had a headache, which was true,
although the ache was not as severe as it might have been.

As he was leaving the place St. John ran up against Jack, who had been
down to the outskirts of the Federal encampment, watching the soldiers
drill.

"Hullo, where have you been?" said the spendthrift carelessly.

"Been down watching the Yankees drill," answered Jack.

"It seems to me you take an awful interest in those dirty Yankees,"
retorted St. John, with a sneer.

"I take an interest in all soldiers."

"Then why don't you join them, and evince your interest in some
practical way?"

"I'd join our troops quick enough, if I was older. I'd be ashamed to
stay at home and suck my thumb."

Jack looked at St. John steadily as he spoke, and this threw the
spendthrift into a rage.

"Do you mean to insult me by that?" he roared.

"If the shoe fits you can wear it."

"I'll knock you down for the insult."

"I don't think you will."

"Why not?"

"Perhaps you are not able, that's why."

"Pooh! Do you think you can stand up against me?"

"Perhaps I can. Don't forget our encounter on the road."

"You took a mean advantage of me. I've a good mind to thrash you right
here."

"You may try it on if you wish, St. John," and so speaking Jack began to
throw off his coat.

"Will you take back what you said?"

"What did I say?"

"Said I was a coward for not becoming a soldier--or about the same
thing."

"I won't take back what I think is true."

"So you dare to say I am a coward?" howled the spendthrift.

"If you want it in plain words, I do dare to say it, and furthermore, it
is true, and you know it. Your plea that you must remain at home is all
a sham. When the Yankees came this way you were all ready to run for
your life at the first sign of real danger. You never thought of your
mother at all."

"Ha! who told you that?"

"Never mind; I found it out, and that's enough."

"I--I was suffering from an extremely severe toothache, and hardly knew
what I was doing that day."

"I don't believe it."

"You young rascal! you are growing more impudent every day."

"I am not a rascal."

"You are, and an upstart in the bargain. I heard at the village that
some Confederate surgeon claims you as his son. Is that true?"

"If it is, it is his business and mine."

"Well, if you are his son, why don't you get out of here?"

"I shall not go as long as Mrs. Ruthven wishes me to remain."

"Does she want you to stay?"

"Yes."

"And Marion wants you to?"

"Yes."

"It is strange. But if I were you I wouldn't stay where I had no right
to stay," went on St. John insinuatingly.

"But I have a right here."

"Indeed!"

"Yes. The late Colonel Ruthven adopted me, and I am his son by law."

"Bah! That will count for nothing if this Confederate surgeon can prove
you belong to him."

"Well, he'll have to prove it first."

"Of course you won't get out of this nest until you are pushed out,"
blustered St. John. "It's too much of a soft thing for you. You ought to
be made to earn your own living."

This remark made Jack's face grow crimson, and, striding up to St. John,
he clenched his fists, at which the young man promptly retreated.

"I am perfectly willing to work whenever called upon to do so," said our
hero. "But it is not for you to say what I shall do, remember that. I
know why you wish to get me out of here."

"Do you, indeed!"

"I do, indeed, St. John Ruthven. You want to get hold of some of Mrs.
Ruthven's property. If I was out of the way, you think she might leave
it all to Marion and to you."

"Well, I have more of a right to it than you, if it comes to that."

"But Marion has the best right, and I hope every dollar of it goes to
her."

"Well, that aint here or there. Are you going with your father or not?"

"He must prove that he is my father first."

"You won't take his word?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I do not like the man," and our hero's face filled with sudden
bitterness. What if Dr. Mackey should prove to be his parent, after all?
How St. John would rejoice in his discomfiture!

"I suppose this Dr. Mackey is a very common sort of man," continued the
spendthrift, in an endeavor to add to our hero's misery.

"What do you know about him?"

"Nothing but what I heard at the village."

"Is he down there now?"

"Of course not. He went with our troops."

Jack drew a sigh of relief. It was likely that the doctor would not show
himself in the neighborhood for some time to come, probably not until
the Federal troops had departed.

"I am going to talk to my aunt of this," said St. John suddenly, and,
without another word to Jack, turned his steps toward the plantation
home.




CHAPTER XIX.

A SUMMONS FROM THE FRONT.


St. John found his aunt too busy to spend much time talking about Jack's
past and Dr. Mackey's claim, and it was not long before he took his
departure, feeling that he had gained nothing by this new attack upon
our hero's welfare.

"I wish I could get him out of the way," he muttered, as he walked
homeward, by a side road, so as to steer clear of the Federal troops.
"If only he would join the army, and get shot down."

He entered his home filled with thoughts of Jack and Marion, but all
these thoughts were driven to the winds after he had read a
communication which had been left for him during his absence.

The communication was one from a well-known Southern leader of the
neighborhood, and ran, in part, as follows:

    "Many of us think it time to call upon you to take up arms as we
    have done. With our noble country suffering from the invasion of the
    enemy, every loyal Southerner is needed at the front. Join our ranks
    ere it be too late. The muster roll can be signed at Wingate's
    Hotel, any time to-day or to-night. Do not delay."

As St. John read this communication his face grew ashen. "Called upon to
join at last!" he muttered. "What shall I do now? What excuse can I
offer for hanging back?"

"What is in your letter, St. John?" asked his mother.

"They want me to join the army--they say every man is needed," he
answered, with half a groan.

"To join? When?"

"At once."

"What shall you do?"

"I--I don't know." His legs began to tremble, and he sank heavily on a
chair. "I--I am too sick to join the army, mother," he went on, half
pleadingly.

Now Mrs. Ruthven did not care to have him leave her, yet she was but
human, and it filled her with disgust to have her only offspring such a
coward.

"You weren't very sick this morning."

"I know that. But the sun has affected my head. I feel very faint."

"If you don't join the ranks, all of our neighbors will put you down as
a coward, St. John."

"They can't want a sick man along," he whined.

"They will say you are shamming."

"But I am not shamming. I feel bad enough to take to my bed this
minute."

"Then you had better do it," answered Mrs. Ruthven, with, however, but
little sympathy in her voice.

"I will go to bed at once."

"You must not forget that your cousin, Harry Powell, is in the army."

"Yes, on the Yankee side."

"Still he is brave enough to go. Marion may think a good deal of him on
that account."

"Well, I would go, for Marion's sake, if I felt at all well," groaned
St. John. "But I am in for a regular spell of sickness, I feel certain
of it."

"Then go to bed."

"Write Colonel Raymond a note stating that I am in bed, and tell him I
would join the ranks if I possibly could," groaned St. John, and then
dragged himself upstairs and retired. Here he called for a negro servant
and had a man go for a doctor.

Much disgusted, Mrs. Mary Ruthven penned the note, and sent it to town,
shielding her son's true character as much as possible.

For the remainder of the day St. John stayed in bed, and whenever a
servant came into his room he would groan dismally.

When the doctor arrived he was alarmed, until he made an examination.

"He is shamming," thought the family physician. But as the Ruthvens were
among his best customers, he said nothing on this point. He left St.
John some soothing medicine and a tonic, and said he would call again
the next day.

Instead of using the medicine, the young spendthrift threw it out of the
window.

"Don't catch me swallowing that stuff," he chuckled to himself. "I am
not altogether such a fool."

Several days passed, and nothing of importance happened to disturb those
at either of the Ruthven plantations.

But a surprise was in store for Jack and those with whom he lived.

One of the wounded soldiers stopping at Mrs. Alice Ruthven's home was
named George Walden. The poor fellow had been shot in the shoulder, a
painful as well as a dangerous wound.

For several days he lay speechless, and during that time the Confederate
surgeon and Mrs. Ruthven, as well as Marion, did all they could to ease
his suffering.

One day George Walden began to speak to Marion.

"You are very good to me," he said. "You are in reality an angel of
mercy."

"I am glad to be able to help you, and thus help the Southern cause,"
replied Marion. "But you must not speak too much. It may retard your
recovery."

"I will not talk much. But you are so kind I must thank you. What is
your name?"

"Marion Ruthven."

Then he told her his own, and said he had a sister at home, in Savannah,
Ga., and asked Marion to write a letter for him, which she did
willingly.

After that Marion and George Walden became quite intimate, and the
soldier told much about himself and the battles through which he had
passed.

"Some of them are nothing but nightmares," he said. "I never wish to see
the like of them again."

"And yet you saw only the fighting, I presume," said Marion. "Think of
what those in the hospital corps must behold."

"I was attached to the hospital corps," returned George Walden. "I have
helped to carry in hundreds who were wounded."

"If you were in the hospital service, did you ever meet a doctor named
Mackey?" questioned Marion, with increased interest.

At this question the brow of the wounded soldier darkened, and he
shifted uneasily upon his couch.

"Yes, I know Dr. Mackey well," he said, at last.

"You do!" cried the girl. "And what do you know of him? I would like to
know very much."

"Is he your friend?" asked George Walden cautiously.

"No, I cannot say that he is."

"Because, if he is your friend, I would rather not say anything further,
Miss Ruthven. I do not wish to hurt your feelings."

"Which means that what you have to say would be of no credit to Dr.
Mackey?"

"Exactly."

"I would like to know all about him. I will tell you why. You have
noticed Jack, my brother?"

"The lad who helped move me yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Of course--a fine young fellow."

"He is not my real brother. My parents adopted him about ten years ago."

"Indeed."

"Some time ago Dr. Mackey turned up here and claimed Jack as his son."

"Impossible! Why, Dr. Mackey is a bachelor!"

"You are sure of this? He says he was married to Jack's mother, who was
shipwrecked on our shore, and who died at this house a few days later."

"I have heard Dr. Mackey declare several times that he was heart-free,
that he had never cared for any woman, and consequently had never
married."

At this declaration Marion's face lit up.

"I knew it! I knew it!" she cried. "I must tell mamma and Jack at once!"

"Dr. Mackey is a fraud," went on the wounded soldier. "To the best of my
knowledge, he comes from Philadelphia, where he used to run a mail-order
medical bureau of some sort--something which the Post-office Department
stopped as a swindle."

"My cousin thought he came from Philadelphia," said Marion. "But wait
until I call my mother and Jack."

Marion ran off without delay, but failed to find either Mrs. Ruthven or
our hero, both having gone to town to purchase something at Mr.
Blackwood's store.

"Da will be back afore supper time, Miss Marion," said one of the
servants, and with this she had to be content.

"My folks have gone away," she said to George Walden. "As soon as they
come back I will bring them to you. I hope you can prove your words."

"I am sure I can prove them," answered the wounded soldier.

"Jack does not like this Dr. Mackey in the least, and the idea of being
compelled to recognize the man as his father is very repulsive to him."

"I don't blame the boy. For myself, I hate the doctor--he is so rough to
the wounded placed in his care. He treated one of my chums worse than a
dog, and I came pretty close to having it out with him in consequence."

"He doesn't look like a very tender-hearted man."

"He doesn't know what tenderness is, Miss Ruthven. I would pity your
brother if he had to place himself under Dr. Mackey's care."

"We won't give Jack up unless the courts make us. My mother is firm on
that point."

"But why does he want the boy?"

"That is the mystery--if Jack is not really his son."

"Perhaps there is a fortune coming to your brother, and the doctor wants
to secure it. A man like Dr. Mackey wouldn't do a thing of this sort
without an object. I can tell you one thing--the fellow worships money."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because I know that a wounded soldier once told him to be careful and
he would give him all the money he had--twelve dollars. The doctor was
careful, and took every dollar that was offered."

"But had he a right to take the soldier's money?" asked Marion
indignantly.

"Not exactly, but in war times many queer things happen that are never
told of at headquarters," answered George Walden.

Here the conversation ceased, for the soldier was quite exhausted. Soon
Marion gave him a quieting draught, and then George Walden slept.




CHAPTER XX.

THE STORM OF BATTLE AGAIN.


As related in the last chapter, Mrs. Ruthven and Jack had gone to
Oldville to do some necessary trading.

Arriving at the town, they found all in high excitement. The stores were
closed, and only the tavern was open, and here were congregated a number
of men who had but lately joined the Confederate ranks.

"What is the matter?" asked Mrs. Ruthven of one of the men.

"Another battle is on," was the answer. "We are going to drive the Yanks
out of this neighborhood."

"Another battle!" cried Jack. "Where?"

"They are fighting over near Larson's Corners. Can't you hear the
shooting?"

"I can hear it now--I didn't hear it before."

"Do you think they will come this way?" questioned Mrs. Ruthven
anxiously.

"Aint no telling how matters will turn," answered the man addressed, and
then hurried off to join the other newly enlisted soldiers. Soon the
soldiers were leaving the town on the double-quick.

Jack watched the departure of the men with interest, and then espied
Darcy Gilbert running toward him.

"Hi, Darcy!" he called out. "Where bound?"

"Jack! Just the one I wanted to meet. There's a fight on."

"So I hear. I reckon we had better call out the Home Guard again."

"By all means. The stores want protection, and so do the homesteads,"
went on Darcy. "Shall I go down the shore road and call up the boys?"

"Yes, and I'll take the Batsford road. If you see Doc Nivers tell him to
call up the boys on the mountain road, will you?"

"Yes. What of those at Brackett's plantation?"

"I'll send Hackett or Purroy after them," answered Jack.

The two lads separated, and Jack turned to his foster mother.

"Mother, you heard what was said," he began. "You don't object, do you?"

"No, Jack; do your duty, as a brave boy should. But be careful--I cannot
afford to lose you!" and she wiped away the tears which gathered in her
eyes.

"You will return home?"

"At once."

"If I were you I'd place Old Ben on guard at the plantation. I don't
believe anybody will harm the place, now it is flying a hospital flag.
Certainly the troops under Colonel Stanton won't trouble us."

"No; he is a gentleman, and I know I can trust him. Dear Harry! I wish
he was not with the Yankee army."

"Well, he is fighting according to the dictates of his conscience, so
there is no use in finding fault."

Mrs. Ruthven kissed Jack tenderly and hurried off, and then with all
speed our hero set to work to summon together the lads composing the
Home Guard.

The task was not difficult, for the firing in the distance--which was
gradually coming closer--had aroused everybody. In less than an hour the
Home Guard was out in force on the town green, with Jack in command.

"Boys, we may have some hot work to do," said the young captain. "I
expect everybody to do his best. I trust there is no coward among us."

"Not a bit of it!" came back in a shout.

"We aint no St. John Ruthvens," whispered one of the young soldiers, but
loud enough for a dozen or more to hear.

"That's so," answered another. And then he continued, "What a difference
between our Jack and his cowardly cousin!"

"We are here to defend property more than to take part in any battle,"
said Jack. "Do not let the guerrillas steal, no matter what side they
pretend to be on. A thief is a thief, whether he says he is a
Confederate or a Yankee."

"That's right!" shouted the old storekeeper, who stood by.

A little while later the firing came closer, and presently up the road a
cloud of dust was seen.

"The Yanks are coming!" was the cry, as a horseman dashed up.

"Coming?" repeated several.

"Yes, they are in retreat!"

A wild shout went up--cut short by the sudden belching forth of cannon
on the mountain side above the town. A little later some Federal troops
swept into view.

"They are coming! Get out of the way!"

Soon the soldiers filled the road and the whole of the green. They had
been fighting hard and were almost exhausted. Others followed until the
streets of the old town were crowded. Then began a systematic retreat
northward.

"We've got the Yanks on the run!" was the cry. "Give it to 'em, boys!"

The rattle of musketry was incessant, and ever and anon came the dull
booming of cannon. Soon more Federal troops appeared, and those who had
come first moved toward the mountain road.

It was a thrilling scene, and Jack longed to take part. But he realized
that just now there was nothing for the Home Guard to do. Had they
opened fire, the Federal troops would have annihilated them. Nobody
molested the stores or town buildings, although the church was hit by
several cannon balls. Gradually the fighting shifted to the mountain
side, and then in the direction of the Ruthven plantations.

"They are moving toward St. John's place," remarked Jack, some time
later, to Darcy. "We ought to go over to see that no damage is done
there."

"St. John ought to take care of the place himself," grumbled Darcy. "He
won't join the army or the Home Guard. What does he expect?"

Several sided with Darcy, but Jack shook his head. "I am going over. I
would like eight or ten to go with me. The others had better remain
around town." And so it was arranged.

The coming of the Federalists to the plantation owned by Mrs. Mary
Ruthven filled St. John with supreme terror. Hearing the firing, the
young man got up and dressed himself. He was just finishing when his
mother appeared.

"St. John, Pompey says the Yankees are coming!" said the mother. "You
must arm yourself and try to defend our home."

"The Yan--Yankees!" he said, with chattering teeth. "How--how near are
they?"

"They have passed through the town and are all over the mountain side.
Come, do not delay. I have given Pompey a gun and old Louis a pistol.
Arm yourself and take charge of them. If we do not protect ourselves, we
may all be killed."

Shaking so that he could scarcely walk, St. John went below and into the
library, where hung a rifle over the chimney piece and also a brace of
swords. He got down the rifle and loaded it. Then he strapped the larger
of the swords around his waist.

"Now you look quite like a soldier," said his mother encouragingly. "I
hope you can shoot straight."

"I--I don't want to kill--kill anybody," he answered. "If I do, the
Yankees will be very--very vindictive."

"But you must protect our home!" insisted Mrs. Mary Ruthven. "Come,
brace up!"

Still trembling, and with a face as white as chalk, St. John walked to
the veranda of the homestead. He gazed down the road and saw a body of
soldiers approaching, in a cloud of dust and smoke. Then a cannon boomed
out, and a ball hit the corner of the house, sending a shower of
splinters in all directions.

"They have struck the house!" shrieked Mrs. Ruthven. "We shall all be
murdered!"

"Spare us! spare us!" gasped St. John, as a company of soldiers came up
to the mansion on the double-quick. "We have harmed nobody! Spare us!"

"You big calf!" cried one of the soldiers. "We aint going to hurt you.
Git up from yer knees!" For St. John had indeed fallen upon his knees in
his abject terror.

"Who--who are you?"

"We are Confederates--if you'll only open yer eyes to see. Git up!" And
in disgust the Southern soldier pricked St. John's shoulder with his
bayonet. The spendthrift let out a yell of fear, rolled over, and dashed
into the house, leaving his gun behind him.

"St. John, where are you going?" cried his mother, coming after him.

"Oh, mother, we are lost!" he wailed.

"No, we are not. Go out again, and pick up your gun."

"I--I cannot! They will--will shoot me!" he shivered.

"But they are our own men, St. John. You are perfectly safe with them."

But he would not go, and she left him in the hallway, where he had sunk
down on a bench. In one way he was to be pitied, for his fear was beyond
his control.

Soon the Confederates left the plantation and the Federalists burst into
view. The cannon continued to boom forth, and presently came a cry from
the rear of the mansion:

"Fire! fire! The house is on fire!"

The report was true, and as the soldiers left the place up went a large
cloud of smoke, followed by the bursting out of flames in several
directions. Such was the state of affairs when Jack and his followers
reached the roadway in front of the plantation.

"The house is on fire!" ejaculated the young captain. "Come, we must put
out the flames."

"But the enemy----" began one of the other boys.

"The Yankees are making for the mountain road and our troops are to the
westward. I don't believe either will come this way again. Hurry up, or
it will be too late!"

Jack ran up to the house with all speed, to meet Mrs. Mary Ruthven on
the veranda.

"The house--it is doomed!" wailed the lady of the plantation.

"Get us all the pails and buckets you have," answered Jack. "And have
you a ladder handy?"

"There is a ladder in the stable, Jack. Oh, will you help put it out?"

"We'll do our best. Is St. John at home?"

"Yes," and so speaking, Mrs. Mary Ruthven ran off to arouse her son.

"You must help," she said. "Quick, or we will be homeless."

"But the--the Yankees?" he asked.

"Are gone." She clasped her hands entreatingly. "Oh, St. John, do be a
man for once!"

"A man? What do you mean, mother?" he cried, leaping up as soon as he
heard that the enemy was gone. "I am not afraid. I--I had a sudden
attack of pain around my--my heart, that's all."

"Then, if it is over, save the house," she answered coldly, and ran off
to tell the servants about the pails and buckets.




CHAPTER XXI.

A LIVELY FIRE.


In the meantime Jack and several others of the Home Guard had made their
way to the barn and brought forth two ladders, a short affair and one
which was both long and heavy.

"The short one can be placed on the veranda roof," said the young
captain. "The other we can place against the corner, where the fire is
burning the strongest."

"Somebody must have gone into the garret to set that fire," said another
of the boys. "Where are the water buckets?"

"Here da am, sah," replied one of the negro servants, and handed them
over.

"Somebody must keep at the well," said Jack. "Pompey, you know how to
use the buckets best. You draw for us."

"Yes, Massah Jack."

"We'll form a line to the cistern, too," went on our hero. "Now then,
work lively!"

The boys ran to the places assigned to them, and aided by the colored
servants placed the ladders as desired. Soon water was being passed up
and dashed upon the burning roof with all possible speed. But the fire
was a lively one, and the breeze which was blowing helped it to spread.

"What can I do?" asked St. John, as he stood by, rubbing his hands
nervously.

"Go down to the stable and the barns and put out the sparks blowing that
way," said Jack.

"Don't you want me here?"

"Yes, if you'll go up to the top of the ladder," answered our hero,
knowing full well St. John would do nothing of the sort.

"I--I never could climb a ladder," faltered the young man, and turned
toward the stable, where he spent his time in putting out the flying
sparks, as Jack had suggested.

It was hot work on the long ladder, and soon Jack was all but exhausted.
But he stuck to his post, knowing full well that, if he let up, the fire
would soon get the best of them. All of the boys worked like Trojans,
and the negro servants helped them as much as possible. Mrs. Ruthven
remained in the house, packing up her valuables, so as to be able to
leave, should it become necessary to do so.

  [Illustration: IT WAS HOT WORK ON THE LONG LADDER AND SOON JACK WAS
  ALL BUT EXHAUSTED.--_Page 173._]

"More water!" cried Jack. "The fire is eating to the center of the roof!
More water!"

"We are bringing it as fast as we can!" panted the boy below him.

"Make the servants form a line to the cistern."

"I will," answered the boy, and soon the water was coming up as rapidly
as Jack and the other lad on the roof could handle it.

At last the fire seemed to lose its force, and was extinguished at one
corner of the roof. Then all hands turned their attention to the spot
over the veranda. Here the flames had eaten under the gutter.

"We must have an ax!" exclaimed Jack, and one was quickly procured from
the woodpile.

"Hi! what are you going to do with that?" yelled St. John, as he caught
sight of the article.

"Going to chop a hole in the roof," answered our hero.

"How foolish! You'll make the fire worse."

"No, I won't--I know what I am doing, St. John."

"You shan't chop a hole in the roof," insisted the unreasonable young
man.

A cry of derision went up from half a dozen of the boys.

"Take a back seat, St. John," advised one. "You are too scared to know
what you are saying."

At this the spendthrift's face grew as red as a beet.

"Shut your tongue, Larry Wilson," he retorted. "I say you shan't chop a
hole in the roof. It will let the wind get to the flames."

"We want to get the water on the flames," replied Larry.

"And I say you shan't touch the roof with the ax!" screamed St. John. "I
command you to stop."

"All right then, we'll stop," said Larry, and Jack said the same. In a
moment more they were both on the ground, the other lads with them.

"Fo' de land sake, de house will burn up suah now!" groaned one of the
negroes.

"If it does, it will be St. John's fault," answered our hero. He was
thoroughly disgusted over the way St. John had acted.

"I'se gwine to tell de missus ob dis!" cried a second negro, and darted
away in search of Mrs. Mary Ruthven.

Soon the lady of the house came running out, with a bundle in one hand
and a box of jewelry in the other.

"What is this I hear, St. John?" she demanded.

"They want to chop in the roof, mother," he answered.

"We must make a hole, so that we can pour the water on the fire,"
explained Jack.

"Then go and make the hole," returned Mrs. Ruthven readily. "And please
be quick!"

"But, mother----" began St. John.

"St. John, they know more about putting out the fire than you do," was
the tart reply of the young man's parent. "Let them do as they wish."

"All right then," growled the unreasonable son. "But if the house burns
to the ground it will be their fault."

"It won't burn to the ground," answered Jack, and leaped up the ladder
again.

Soon our hero was chopping away at a lively rate. In the meantime the
others brought all the water possible to the scene.

When a hole was made in the roof the flames shot skyward for six or
eight feet. At this St. John uttered a loud cry, almost of exultation:

"There, what did I tell you? Now the house will be burnt to the ground
sure!"

"Lively with that water!" shouted Jack, ignoring him completely. And as
the pails and buckets came up in a stream, he dashed the contents where
they would do the most good.

It was perilous work, for the smoke rolled all around him, and more than
once he was in danger of suffocation. But the water now did much good,
and soon the flames began to go down.

"Hurrah! we have the fire under control!" shouted Larry.

It was true, and inside of quarter of an hour the last spark was put
out. Then Jack crawled to the ground, almost too weak to stand.

"Is it out?" asked Mrs. Ruthven anxiously.

"Yes," answered our hero.

"Oh, I am so glad!" and she caught Jack warmly by the hand. At heart she
was a true woman, and could appreciate what our hero had done for her.

St. John stood by in silence, hardly knowing what to say. At last he
shuffled into the house.

"The water has made an awful mess," he declared, later, to his mother.
"They needn't have drowned out the whole house like this."

"Don't say another word, St. John," answered his mother severely. "I am
thankful the fire is out, even if you are not." And then she turned away
to direct the servants in clearing away the muss that had been made.

The tide of battle had swept off in the direction of Jack's home, and
anxious to know how Marion and his foster mother were faring, our hero
soon after left Mrs. Mary Ruthven's plantation, and with him went Larry
Wilson and three others of the Guard.

From a distance came the constant cracking of rifles and the booming of
cannon.

"Let us take the short cut," suggested Jack, as he pushed across the
fields. "There can be no time to spare."

"It is hard to tell who is winning to-day," returned Larry. "At first I
thought the Yankees were in retreat."

"So did I, Larry. Well, we'll know how matters stand by night."

As they came in sight of our hero's home a Federal battery dashed into
sight, drawn by horses covered with foam. The battery was followed by a
regiment of infantry.

"Colonel Stanton's regiment!" cried Jack.

"They are in retreat!" answered Larry. "Look! our soldiers are coming
down the hill after them like mad!"

"There is Colonel Stanton on horseback," went on Jack, straining his
eyes. "What a fine figure he cuts!"

"Ba, Jack! how can you say that of a Yankee? I have half a mind to shoot
him."

As Larry spoke he raised his gun, but Jack pulled it down.

"Don't, Larry!"

"Why not? We are at war, and he is our enemy."

"I know, but----"

"But what? Are you too tender-hearted to be a real soldier?"

"It isn't that, Larry. Colonel Stanton is such a fine man----"

"Those Yankees killed Colonel Ruthven, don't forget that," went on Larry
earnestly. "We ought to bring down every one of them--if we can."

"Perhaps, but I would like to see Colonel Stanton spared--I cannot tell
why."

On swept the soldiers, and for the moment the Federals were hidden by
the smoke of gun fire. Then, as they reappeared, Jack set up a cry, half
of alarm.

"What is it?" queried Larry.

"Colonel Stanton is shot!"

"Shot? You are sure?"

"Yes. See, he has fallen over the neck of his horse and several soldiers
are running toward him. How sad! I wonder if he is dead?"

"If he is, it but serves him right, Jack."

"Perhaps; but I hope he isn't dead," answered Jack, with a peculiar look
in his anxious face. As the Federal colonel disappeared from view he
gave something of a groan, he could not tell why.




CHAPTER XXII.

AFTER THE BATTLE.


The Federal battery had gained a hill behind the Ruthven plantation, and
from this point began to fire rapidly at the advancing Confederates.

Shot and shell sped over the homestead, and the inmates were,
consequently, much alarmed.

"We will do well if we escape this murderous fire," said Mrs. Alice
Ruthven to Marion.

"I wish Jack was here," answered the girl. "Where can he be keeping
himself?"

"He remained behind to protect the property in town."

The tide of battle grew fiercer, and presently, just as Marion had gone
to the kitchen to get something for the invalid soldiers, a heavy shot
passed through the sitting room of the house, tearing down the plaster
of two walls and damaging much of the furniture.

Of course all in the mansion were much alarmed. The negroes, especially,
were panic-stricken, and ran forth in all directions.

"We is gwine ter be murdered," shrieked one. "Da is gwine ter shoot us
all ter pieces!"

"Marion, are you hurt?" came from Mrs. Ruthven, who was in the front
hallway at the time.

"No, mother. Were you hit?"

"No, Marion."

"Where did the shot strike?"

"Through the sitting room, I believe."

Both ran to investigate, and in the sitting room a sight met their gaze
calculated to stun the stoutest heart.

Plaster and splinters lay in all directions, and the wounded soldiers
were crying for aid and for mercy, thinking the enemy close at hand.

Under a mass of wreckage on the floor lay George Walden, senseless, and
with the blood flowing from a wound in his temple.

"Oh, Mr. Walden is hurt, mamma!" shrieked Marion, and ran to raise him
up.

They carried the wounded soldier to another part of the house and laid
him on a fresh cot. Then, while Marion cared for him, Mrs. Ruthven went
back to aid the others. In the meantime Old Ben was instructed to hoist
the hospital flag to a higher point on the mansion.

The shot appeared to be about the last fired in that vicinity, and soon
the shooting came from a distance, as Federals and Confederates withdrew
in the direction of the mountains.

"Mother! Marion! are you safe?" It was the cry from Jack as he came up,
almost out of breath from running.

"Yes, thank Heaven, we are safe so far," answered Mrs. Ruthven. "Where
have you been--at the town?"

"No, I was over to St. John's place," answered our hero, and in a few
words told about the fire.

"We, too, have suffered," said Mrs. Ruthven. "A solid shot passed
through the sitting room."

"Did it hurt anybody?"

"One of the wounded soldiers was knocked senseless. The others were more
frightened than hurt."

"It has been a hot fight all around. And, oh, mother! what do you think?
I saw Colonel Stanton shot down!"

"Is that true, Jack?"

"Yes, I saw the whole thing as plain as day. It's too bad. He was such a
nice gentleman, even if he was a Yankee."

"You are right. Jack; he was indeed a gentleman. I felt perfectly safe
while he was in the vicinity."

It was not long before Jack went upstairs to see how Marion was faring.
He found his sister working over George Walden, trying to restore the
hurt soldier to his senses.

"He is pretty badly off," said Marion. "I wish we had a doctor."

"Where is that surgeon who was here?"

"Gone to the battlefield."

"I don't know of any doctor to get just now, Marion."

"Then we must do the best we can ourselves. And by the way, Jack, this
soldier knows Dr. Mackey."

"What?"

"Yes, and he said that Dr. Mackey is more or less of a fraud, and never
was married."

"Oh, Marion! if he could only prove that."

"He thinks he can. He told me that the doctor came from Philadelphia,
and Cousin Harry told me the same thing."

"We must follow up this man's record. I am now certain he is not my
father."

"The soldier thought that perhaps there was property coming to you, and
that Dr. Mackey wanted to get hold of it."

"I don't think he'd be above such a scheme, Marion. I never liked his
looks from the first time I met him, at the bridge."

"I know that, Jack."

There was no time to say more, for there was too much to do. Marion
continued her work around the sick rooms, and Jack went out to see how
matters were faring at the stable and the barns.

He had hardly gained the vicinity of the stable when he heard a
commotion going on within. Old Ben and two of the Home Guard boys were
having a fight with three guerrillas, who were bent upon stealing
several horses.

"Let go dem hosses!" Jack heard Old Ben cry. "Dem is private prop'ty;
don't yo' know dat?"

"Git out o' the way, nigger!" cried the leader of the guerrillas. "We
want these hosses, an' we are bound to have 'em!"

"If you touch the horses I'll fire at you!" came from one of the Home
Guard boys, but scarcely had he spoken when one of the guerrillas raised
his pistol and fired on the lad, wounding him in the shoulder.

This cowardly action made Jack's blood boil, and not stopping to think
twice, he raised the gun he carried and blazed away. His aim took the
guerrilla in the breast, and he sank down seriously, though not
mortally, wounded.

A yell went up from the other guerrillas, and they fired at random, but
did no damage to anybody but Old Ben, who was shot through the left
shoulder. Then the other boys fired, and the guerrillas who could do so
took to their heels.

"Ben, are you badly hurt?" asked Jack, when the encounter was over.

"Not wery, Massah Jack," answered the faithful old colored man, and went
to the house to bind up his wound.

In the meantime the guerrilla who had been shot lay on the floor, raving
and cursing in a frightful manner.

"Stop your swearing, or we'll do nothing for you," said Jack sharply,
and then the fellow became more reasonable. He begged to have a doctor
care for his wounds.

"We have no doctor here, but we'll care for you as best we can," said
our hero, and this was done, although the guerrilla was kept at the
stable, on a bed of straw.

At nightfall the fighting came to an end, and all became quiet around
the plantation. It had been more or less of a drawn battle, and it was
expected that the contest would be renewed at daybreak.

"Are you going to bed, Jack?" asked Mrs. Ruthven, a little after ten
o'clock.

"No, mother; I think it best that I remain on guard," he answered. "Some
of those guerrillas may come back, you know."

"But you must be tired out."

"I am; but I reckon I can stay up during the night without falling
asleep at my post," he said, smiling faintly.

"Do as you think best, Jack; you and Marion must be my mainstays now,"
and she kissed him affectionately.

Hour after hour of the night wore along and nothing of moment happened.
Jack spent the most of the time around the house, but toward daybreak
made the rounds of the stable and barns.

He found the guerrilla groaning dismally.

"Give me sum terbacker, will yer?" asked the man presently.

Not wishing to appear too unkind, Jack procured a twist of tobacco for
him, which he began to chew savagely.

"I'm in a putty bad fix, I reckon," said the guerrilla, after chewing in
silence for several minutes.

"If you are, you have only yourself to thank for it," returned Jack
coldly.

"Oh, I aint complainin', sonny. It's the fortunes o' war--as them poets
call it, I reckon."

"You might be in better business than stealing horses."

"So I might, sonny--an' then agin' I might do wuss--yes, a heap wuss. I
was gwine ter turn them hosses over to the Confed'rate government--they
need hoss-flesh."

"You were going to do nothing of the kind. You are not a soldier, you
are a common thief."

"Now, don't be hard on me, sonny. I fit on the right side, I did,"
drawled the guerrilla anxiously.

"You fought only for your own good."

"Taint so, sonny; I fit fer the glorious Stars an' Bars. Wot are ye
calkerlatin' ter do with me, sonny?"

"I don't know yet. I reckon you'll stay where you are for the present."

"That's so too--I can't move nohow. Hullo, who's thet?"

At this question Jack turned suddenly--to find himself confronted by Dr.
Mackey and two soldiers in Confederate uniform!




CHAPTER XXIII.

DR. MACKEY'S BOLD MOVE.


It must be confessed that Jack was startled, for he had not heard the
approach of the surgeon and his companions, who had come up noiselessly
and on foot.

"Hullo, you here?" asked Dr. Mackey, as he gazed at Jack in some
astonishment.

"What brings you here, Dr. Mackey?" demanded our hero.

"I am looking for the dead or wounded in this neighborhood," was the
answer. "Whom have you here?"

"A guerrilla we shot down."

"Ha! who shot him?"

"I did. He was trying to steal our horses."

"Dr. Mackey, don't you know me?" came from the guerrilla.

"Pete Gendron!" muttered the surgeon. "I never expected to see you
here."

"Nor did I calkerlate to see you, doc. But I'm mighty glad yer come. Ye
kin git me out o' this fix."

As he spoke, the guerrilla eyed Dr. Mackey sharply. On more than one
occasion he had been the doctor's tool, and now he thought it no more
than fair that the medical man should stand by him.

"Evidently you know this guerrilla," said Jack slowly.

"I do," answered the doctor slowly. He hardly knew how to proceed.

"I aint no guerrilla, an' Dr. Mackey kin prove it," cried Pete Gendron.
The coming of the medical man had raised his spirits wonderfully.

"You are a guerrilla."

"I aint. Dr. Mackey will prove my words. He's a friend o' mine. Aint ye,
doc?"

There was a peculiar emphasis to the guerrilla's words which made the
surgeon shift uneasily from one foot to the other.

"If I don't humor Gendron, he may expose me," thought the surgeon
dismally. "He knows too much to be made an enemy of."

"Is he your friend?" asked Jack.

"Not exactly my friend, Jack, but I know him pretty well," answered Dr.
Mackey slowly, as if trying to feel his way.

"I aint a guerrilla, am I?" put in Pete Gendron eagerly.

"N--no, he is not a--a guerrilla," stammered the surgeon. "There must be
some mistake."

"I want to be taken to the Confed'rate hospital," went on Pete Gendron.

"But he and his comrades were trying to steal our horses," said Jack
firmly.

"As I said before, my dear Jack, there must be some mistake," returned
the surgeon smoothly. Suddenly his face brightened. "Gendron, you made a
mistake by leaving the hospital so soon. Your fighting in to-day's
battle must have made you light-headed. You probably came here by
mistake."

The guerrilla was crafty enough to seize upon the cue thus given.

"Thet must be the size on it," he murmured. "My head has felt queer ever
since I got out in the sun. Reckon I aint accountable fer all my
actions, doc."

"He is a perfectly honest man," said Dr. Mackey to Jack. "I have seen
him fight most bravely in half a dozen battles."

Jack felt that the surgeon was falsifying, but how could he prove it?
Then he felt that there would be no use in keeping the guerrilla at the
plantation.

"Well, take him away, if you want to," he answered. "But I shall still
hold my opinion of the rascal."

"You are as insulting as ever, Jack," sneered the medical man. "I came
here, hoping to find you of a different turn of mind."

"I shall never change my mind regarding you, Dr. Mackey," was our hero's
ready reply.

"Come outside, I would like to talk to you in private."

The surgeon spoke in a whisper, and feeling there would be no harm in
listening to what he might have to say, Jack followed him into the open.

"I want to know what you intend to do about coming with me, Jack," said
the medical man, when they were out of hearing distance of the others.

"I don't intend to go with you, Dr. Mackey."

"You are hard on your father."

"Once and for the last time, let me say that I do not acknowledge you as
my father."

"Nevertheless, I am your parent, and will soon be in a position to prove
my claim."

"And when that time comes I may be in a position to prove you an
impostor, Dr. Mackey."

"What! This to me!" ejaculated the medical man, in a rage.

"Yes, that to you."

"Boy, you are--are mad--you do not know what you are saying."

"I know perfectly well what I am saying."

"Prove me an impostor?"

"Yes."

"But how can you, when I am exactly what I claim to be."

"Dr. Mackey, where were you located before the war broke out?"

"You heard my story, Jack. There is no use to repeat it."

"You came from Philadelphia."

"Ha! who told you that?"

"You were connected with a medical company there which was put out of
business by the post office authorities because of using the mails
fraudulently."

At this assertion Dr. Mackey fell back as if shot.

"Jack, I demand to know who has told you this?"

"You are a bachelor, and were never married to my mother or to any other
lady."

"I demand to know who told you this--this--string of falsehoods!" cried
the doctor, catching our hero by the arm.

"A part of the story came from Mrs. Ruthven's nephew."

"What, St. John Ruthven? I hardly know the fellow."

"No, another nephew, Dr. Harry Powell, who is now attached to the Yankee
army. He hails from Philadelphia."

"That viper!" ejaculated the medical man, then tried to check himself.
"I--er--that is, I know Powell distantly. But he is much mistaken."

"I don't think so--and neither does Mrs. Ruthven nor Marion."

"So you have been harboring a Yankee in this place, eh? A pretty
business to be in surely," sneered the surgeon.

"We could not help ourselves. But I have another witness against you."

"Another?"

"Yes, a Confederate soldier who knows you well. He can testify that you
never had either sweetheart or wife."

"Who is the man?"

"For the present I must decline to disclose his identity."

"You are trying to fool me!" stormed Dr. Mackey.

"No, I am telling you only the truth. Now I wish you to answer me a few
questions. Why are you so anxious to claim me as your son?"

"Because you are my son. Good or bad, I cannot go back upon my own flesh
and blood, as you are trying to do."

"I will never believe I am your son!" cried Jack impetuously. "Do you
know what I think? I think you are trying to get hold of me so that you
can obtain some money belonging to me."

"You--you little rascal!" cried Dr. Mackey. "How dare you talk to me in
this fashion?"

"Because I believe you are a fraud, that's why," answered our hero
defiantly.

A commingled look of rage and disappointment came into the medical man's
face, which suddenly gave place to a look of cunning.

"I will make you smart for this," he stormed, and caught Jack firmly by
both arms. "Garder! Mason! Come here!" he called loudly.

"What is wanted?" asked one of the Confederate soldiers, as both came
rushing from the stable.

"Conduct this young man to our camp, and see that he does not escape
from you."

"You shan't take me from home!" ejaculated Jack. "Let me go!"

He struggled to release himself, but the two soldiers were powerful
fellows, and soon made him their prisoner.

"You are making a mistake," puffed Jack. "Dr. Mackey is a first-class
fraud."

"Dr. Mackey is all right," put in Gendron, the guerrilla.

"He must be held," said the surgeon. "I will be responsible for this
arrest."

"At least let me see Mrs. Ruthven before I go."

"No, take him away at once," cried the surgeon quickly. "Then you can
return for Gendron."

"Where shall we take him, doctor?" asked one of the privates.

"To the old red house up the river. You know the place?"

"Yes, sir."

No more was said, and a minute later Jack found himself being conducted
across the plantation by a back way. He wanted to cry out, but one of
the soldiers leveled his gun and commanded him to keep silent.

As soon as the party of three was gone Dr. Mackey entered into earnest
conversation with Gendron, at the same time giving attention to the
guerrilla's wound.

"Very well, Pete," he said, at the conclusion. "Stick by me and I'll
stick by you."

"It's a whack," replied the wounded man.

"If anybody from the house comes here, tell them that Jack went off to
get some Confederate ambulance corps to take you away."

"I will."

A few words in addition passed between the pair, and then Dr. Mackey
left the stable.

He was anxious to have another talk with Mrs. Ruthven, but concluded
that he must postpone the interview until later.

"I reckon I have done enough for one night," he said to himself grimly.
"With that boy in my power, perhaps she and the others will sing a
different tune. Anyway, I'll not let the lad out of my grasp until he
promises to do exactly as I desire."




CHAPTER XXIV.

THE HUNT FOR JACK.


"Marion, where is Jack?" asked Mrs. Ruthven, in the morning.

"I do not know, mamma."

"When did you see him last?"

"Just before he started for the stable last night."

Mrs. Ruthven was very much worried, and with good cause, as my readers
know. She sought out Old Ben, who had his shoulder bandaged.

"Ben, have you seen Jack?"

"No, missus, I aint."

"Is he around the stable or the barns?"

"Perhaps he is, missus. Ole Ben will go an' look, if yo' want it."

"Yes, Ben; I cannot imagine what has become of him."

Old Ben hurried off, and Mrs. Ruthven went upstairs to wait upon George
Walden, who had now developed a raging fever.

"It is very odd what has become of Jack," said the lady of the
plantation. "He never went off like this before."

It was fully half an hour before Old Ben came back. The colored man
looked much worried.

"Can't find him nowhar, missus," he said. "An' dat dar guerrilla is
gone, too."

"The man who was shot while trying to steal the horses?"

"Yes, missus."

"Then something must be wrong. Didn't you find any trace at all of
Jack?"

"Not de slightest, missus. Old Ben looked eberywhar, too--'deed I did,
missus."

"I do not doubt you, Ben. But this is terrible. Jack must be somewhere."

"Dat's so, too, missus."

"Were there any signs of violence about?" asked Marion. "Any--any blood,
for example?"

"Some blood at de stable. Miss Marion. But I rackon dat was from de
shootin' ob dat dar guerrilla."

Marion heaved a deep sigh, and Mrs. Ruthven shook her head slowly. Here
was fresh trouble, more painful than any that had gone before.

"The guerrilla couldn't go off alone, could he?" asked Marion.