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Twelve hours previously he had been exhausted; now he felt in the mood to undergo anything. The two walked out of the garden, accompanied by Waggie, and so on until they reached an open field. Here they sat down, on the limb of a dead and stricken tree, and discussed what they were to do. "We don't know," mused Watson, "whether any of our party have been caught or not.
As he ended the second number the children clapped their hands, and the master of the house shouted "Bravo!" Then the boy proceeded to put Waggie through his tricks. The dog rolled over and lay flat on the ground, with his paws in the air as if he were quite dead; then at a signal from his master he sprang to his feet and began to dance.
George drew nearer to Watson and whispered one word: "Danger!" He picked up Waggie and put him in his pocket. "We must be going," reiterated Watson, moving towards the door with unusual celerity for a blind man who had found himself in an unfamiliar apartment. "Don't go yet," urged Mr. Peyton, seeking to detain the supposed vagabonds; "I want Mr. Jason to hear some of these plantation songs.
"Keep up your nerve, fellows," said Watson, who had become the leader of the party, "and remember that all depends upon the quietness with which we conduct things on this floor, so that the guard below won't take the alarm." As he spoke there was a rattling of keys and a creaking of locks. The heavy door of the room opened, and in walked Waggie.
Keep Waggie from barking if you can." Another scratching showed that Watson had heard and understood. But Waggie began to bark again. George was filled with vexation. "Why did I let Waggie go in the car?" he asked himself. Just then a welcome whistle proclaimed that the third freight train was approaching.
Even Waggie seemed a bedraggled little vagabond. But George rose valiantly to the occasion. He began to sing "Old Folks at Home," in a clear sweet voice, and, when he had finished, he gave a spirited rendition of "Dixie." When "Dixie" was over he made a signal to Waggie, who walked up and down the pathway on his hind legs with a comical air of pride.
Waggie began to growl fiercely, quite as if he were large enough to try a bout with a whole Confederate regiment. "Take off your shoes, George," cried Watson. "Your coat and vest, too." Both the fugitives divested themselves of boots, coats and vests; their hats they had already lost in their flight from "The General."
When the conflict was over he hurried back to Washington, found Waggie alive and well, and then went home with him to Cincinnati. Here he had a startling but delightful reunion with his father, whose mysterious disappearance had been due to his capture by the Confederates, and an incarceration for many months in an out-of-the-way Southern prison.
Watson was feverish, with an unnatural glitter in his eyes, while George's face was a sickly white. Waggie reposed at the bottom of the rickety craft, as if he cared not whether he lived or died. "Look!" cried Watson, who was at the oars. He pointed out towards the south, where were to be seen a collection of masts and smoke-stacks, rising above long black hulls.
"Oh! oh! oh!" whispered Watson; "I am so cramped and stiff I don't know what will become of me. This is the most painful experience of the war." There would have been something amusing in the position of the hiders if it had seemed less dangerous. Watson was now sitting with legs crossed, in tailor fashion; on his lap was George; and upon George's knee jumped Waggie.
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