"Listen to the lad!" exclaimed Dennis, delightedly, in one of his loudest whispers.
Noel was more afraid of Dennis when he whispered than he was when he spoke in a low tone. Accordingly he grasped his comrade's arm and said, "Don't make so much noise, Dennis."
"Noel's the lad for me! He can ask more questions in a minute than any man from the old sod could ask in five. Well, lad, I have been here about two hours."
"Where did you come from?"
"You'll have to ask the people what brought me. I can't tell you, I'm shure. I niver was in such a country and I hope I'll niver be again. I wasn't so troubled about mesilf as I was about you, Noel, me lad. Tell me about yoursilf."
"Hush!" repeated Noel. "Be still!" he whispered excitedly. "Do you hear those voices?"
"Shure, I hear them."
"Well, keep still and see if we can find out what they are saying."
It was plain to both the listening young soldiers that a man, who, from his tones and speech was undoubtedly white, was talking to a negro lad standing near the stack within which the two young soldiers were hiding.
In a moment Noel recognized the voice of the little negro lad as that of the son of Aunt Katie. The little urchin, not more than ten years of age, had impressed the young soldier by the intensity with which he had looked at him from the time of his arrival until he was conducted by Aunt Katie to the place of his concealment.