of freedom. In this oppressive eighteenth century of ours, with its slaveries of rank and fashion, one must go into a wood of moonlight in the middle of the night for one's pulses to pipe to the natural joys of unrestraint. At least I thought so then, and in the exuberance of the moment I concocted a merry plot for the diversion of myself and the mystification of the Corporal and his men. Nor was it made of mischief merely, since it was to be ordered in such a cunning way that it should still further throw them off the rebel's track, and confirm their theory that they had already seen him in this wood.
First I returned upon the road I had come by and spied out where they were. This was a matter of small difficulty, as their voices were plainly to be distinguished close at hand.
Creeping through the thickets at the direction of their tones, I came at last to a place where a rift among the tree tops let the brightness in. It poured upon the Corporal and his men, assembled in still another consultation underneath a glorious silver-birch, arch and lissome as a maid, which rose above them with graces indescribable, and seemed from where I stood to fade into the sky. Clearly my pursuers were seriously at fault, and even dubious of the road to take in this strange wilderness. 'Twas in my mind to minister to this perplexity.
Selecting a spot appropriate to the purpose, I cheerfully set about preparing them the surprise I had in store. I crushed my soft, three-cornered
