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.
"Where d'ye come from ?" said he.
"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.
"Walk all the way ?" "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.