WHO WAS LUCAS MALLORY?
then from the felled trees all about—especially at the house and the doors and the windows—and whether any other house could be seen from them. But no house except mine could have been seen from Crider's—and mine was hid, just as his had been, by thick trees.
"What are these trees cut down for?" he asks me, thinking I owned them.
"Fire-wood," grins I. "The soldiers eat me out of fire-wood all the time."
"Why aren't they made into fire-wood then? They can't be eaten this way."
"Too busy."
The officer smiles a little, then says sudden:
"Where's Lucas Mallory?"
"Again, please," says I, "I never heard that name before. Is it a bird or a beast?"
"A man."
"An Irishman? You're in the wrong county for Irishmen. Three counties further on. Try something Dutch."
"Don't know anything of Lucas Mallory,
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