"Who's thar?" said a man, as he threw the door wide open.
"A stranger, who wants something to eat," replied Tom, boldly.
"My name is Tom Somers," added the soldier boy, as he stepped into the house. "Can you tell me whether the Seventh Georgia Regiment is down this way?"
"I reckon 'tis; least wise I don't know. There's three rigiments about five mile below yere."
"I was told my regiment was down this way, and I'm trying to find it. I'm half starved. Will you give me something to eat?"
The man, who was evidently the proprietor of the house, brought up the remnant of a boiled ham, a loaf of white bread, some butter, and a pitcher of milk. Tom ate till he was satisfied. The farmer, in deference to his amazing appetite probably, suspended his questions till the guest began to show some signs of satiety, when he pressed him again as vigorously as though he had been born and brought up among the hills of New England.
"From Manassas. I lost my regiment in the fight; and the next day I heard they had been toted over this way, and I put after them right smart," answered Tom, adopting as much of the Georgia vernacular as his knowledge would permit.
"No; I came in the keers most of the way."
"But you don't wear our colors," added the farmer, glancing at Tom's clothes.
"My clothes were all worn out, and I helped myself to the best suit I could find on the field."
"What regiment did ye say ye b'longed to?" queried the man, eying the uniform again.
"To the Seventh Georgia. Perhaps you can tell me where I shall find it."
"I can't; but I reckon there's somebody here that can. I'll call him."
Tom was not at all particular about obtaining this information. There was evidently some military man in the house, who would expose him if he remained any longer.
"Who is it, father?" asked a person who had probably heard a part of the conversation we have narrated; for the voice proceeded from a bed-room adjoining the apartment in which Tom had eaten his supper.
"A soldier b'longing to the Seventh Georgia," answered the farmer. "That's my son; he's a captain in the cavalry, and he'll know all about it. He can tell you where yer regiment is," added he, turning to Tom, who was edging towards the door.
"I'm very much obliged to you for my supper," said the fugitive, nervously. "I reckon I'll be moving along."