THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 PS3513 
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E?.m^ 0FNCAT CHAPEL 
 
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 This book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the 
 last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it may be 
 renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://archive.org/details/battlegroundOOglas 
 
American Classical Romances 
 
 "To Have and to Hold." By Mary Johnston 
 
 " Standish of Standish." By Jane G. Austin 
 
 "The Heart's Highway." By Mary E. Wilkins 
 
 "The Road to Frontenac." By Samuel Merwin 
 
 "The Bow of Orange Ribbon." By Amelia E. Barr 
 
 "Janice Meredith." By Paul Leicester Ford 
 
 " None but the Brave." By Hamblen Sears 
 
 "The Reckoning." By Robert W. Chambers 
 
 "Lords of the North." By Agnes C. Laut 
 
 "For the Freedom of the Sea." By Cyrus Townsend Brady 
 
 "Old Creole Days." By George W. Cable 
 
 "The Hoos-ier School-Master." By Edward Eggleston 
 
 "The Luck of Roaring Camp." By Bret Harte 
 
 "The Battle-Ground." By Ellen Glasgow 
 
 "Gordon Keith." By Thomas Nelson Page 
 
 "The Leopard's Spots." By Thomas Dixon, Jr. 
 
 "Colonel Carter of Cartersville." By F. Hopkinson Smith 
 
 " Golden Fleece." By David Graham Phillips 
 
 "The Daughter of a Magnate." By F, H. Spearman 
 
 "The Coast of Freedom." By Adele Marie Shaw and Albert Shaw 
 
VIRGINIA 
 

 ELLEN GLASGOW 
 
 The 
 Battle-Ground 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE WAR 
 OF THE REBELLION 
 
 $ 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 W. J. BAER 
 
 P. F. COLLIER & SON 
 NEW YORK 
 
This edition of the " Battle-Ground** is published under 
 special arrangement ivith Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Co. 
 
 COPYRIGHT I9O2 
 BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE * CO. 
 
 — Tht Battle-Ground 
 
* VNIIOHTO FTIHO? 
 iO 'AIM AHVH9I1 
 
 (Bo 
 
 1 ri 
 
 Fiction, Vol. is — I 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK FIRST 
 GOLDEN YEARS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 VI. 
 
 " De Hine Foot er a He Frawg " 
 
 PAGB 
 
 i 
 
 At the Full of the Moon . 
 
 . 14 
 
 The Coming of the Boy 
 
 . 29 
 
 A House with an Open Door . . 
 
 • 45 
 
 The School for Gentlemen 
 
 . . 56 
 
 College Days 
 
 . 72 
 
 BOOK SECOND 
 
 YOUNG BLOOD 
 
 I. 
 
 The Major's Christmas 
 
 
 
 
 93 
 
 II. 
 
 Betty dreams by the Fire . 
 
 
 
 
 114 
 
 III. 
 
 Dan and Betty .... 
 
 
 
 
 122 
 
 IV. 
 
 Love in a Maze 
 
 
 
 
 135 
 
 V. 
 
 The Major loses his Temper 
 
 
 
 
 150 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Meeting in the Turnpike 
 
 
 
 
 162 
 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 
 If this be Love . 
 Betty's Unbelief 
 
 
 
 
 174 
 190 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Montjoy Blood . 
 
 
 
 
 203 
 
 X. 
 
 The Road at Midnight 
 
 
 
 
 219 
 
 XI. 
 
 At Merry Oaks Tavern 
 
 
 
 
 . 229 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Night of Fear . 
 
 
 
 
 243 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Crabbed Age and Callow Youth 
 
 
 253 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Hush before the Storm 
 
 
 
 
 . 269 
 
vm 
 
 Contents 
 
 BOOK THIRD 
 
 THE SCHOOL OF 
 
 WAR 
 
 
 CHAPTER FA6B 
 
 I. How Merry Gentlemen went to War . . 283 
 
 II. The Day's March .... 
 
 • 294 
 
 III. The Reign of the Brate . 
 
 
 
 • 305 
 
 IV. After the Battle 
 
 
 
 . . 316 
 
 V. The Woman's Pa?* . 
 
 
 
 • 327 
 
 VI. On the Road to Romney . 
 
 
 
 - • 338 
 
 VII. "I wait my Time* . 
 
 
 
 • 349 
 
 VIII. The Altar of the War God 
 
 
 
 . 357 
 
 IX. The Montjoy Blood again 
 
 
 
 . m 
 
 BOOK FOURTH 
 
 
 THE RETURN OF THE VANQUISHED 
 
 I. 
 
 The Ragged Army 381 
 
 II. 
 
 A Straggler from the Ranks 
 
 
 • 392 
 
 III. 
 
 The Cabin in the Woods . 
 
 
 
 • 405 
 
 IV. 
 
 In the Silence of the Guns « 
 
 
 
 . 418 
 
 V. 
 
 "The Place Thereof" 
 
 
 
 . 429 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Peaceful Side of War 
 
 
 
 • 437 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Silent Battle 
 
 
 
 . 450 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Last Stand 
 
 
 
 . . 462 
 
 IX. 
 
 In the Hour of Defeat 
 
 
 
 • 474 
 
 X. 
 
 On the March again . . . 
 
 
 
 . 488 
 
 XI. 
 
 The Retura .... 
 
 
 
 • 499 
 
THE BATTLE-GROUND 
 
 BOOK FIRST 
 
 GOLDEN YEARS 
 
 I 
 
 "de hine foot er a he frawg" 
 
 Toward the close of an early summer afternoon, a 
 little girl came running along the turnpike to where 
 a boy stood wriggling his feet in the dust. 
 
 " Old Aunt Ailsey's done come back," she panted, 
 " an' she's conjured the tails off Sambo's sheep. I 
 saw 'em hanging on her door ! " 
 
 The boy received the news witH an indifference 
 from which it blankly rebounded. He buried one 
 bare foot in the soft white sand and withdrew it 
 with a jerk that powdered the blackberry vines 
 beside the way. 
 
 " Where's Virginia ? " He asked shortly. 
 
 The little girl sat down in the tall grass by the 
 roadside and shook her red curls from her eyes. 
 She gave a breathless gasp and began fanning her- 
 self with the flap of her white sunbonnet. A fine 
 moisture shone on her bare neck and arms above 
 her frock of sprigged chintz calico. 
 
 i 
 
t The Battle-Ground 
 
 " She can't run a bit," she declared warmly, peer- 
 ing into the distance of the long white turnpike. 
 "I'm a long ways ahead of her, and I gave her the 
 start. Zeke's with her." 
 
 With a grunt the boy promptly descended from 
 His heavy dignity. 
 
 " You can't run," he retorted. " I'd like to see a 
 girl run, anyway." He straightened his legs and 
 thrust his hands into his breeches pockets. " You 
 can't run," he repeated. 
 
 The little girl flashed a clear defiance; from a 
 pair of beaming hazel eyes she threw him a scornful 
 challenge. " I bet I can beat you," she stoutly re- 
 joined. Then as the boy's glance fell upon her hair, 
 her defiance waned. She put on her sunbonnet and 
 drew it down over her brow. " I reckon I can run 
 some," she finished uneasily. 
 
 The boy followed her movements with a candid 
 stare. " You can't hide it," he taunted ; " it shines 
 right through everything. O Lord, ain't I glad my 
 head's not red ! " 
 
 At this pharisaical thanksgiving the little girl 
 flushed to the ruffled brim of her bonnet. Her ser*- 
 sitive lips twitched, and she sat meekly gazing past 
 the boy at the wall of rough gray stones which 
 skirted a field of ripening wheat. Over the wheat a 
 light wind blew, fanning the even heads of the 
 bearded grain and dropping suddenly against the 
 sunny mountains in the distance. In the nearer 
 pasture, where the long grass was strewn with wild 
 flowers, red and white cattle were grazing beside a 
 little stream, and the tinkle of the cow bells drifted 
 faintly across the slanting sunrays. It was open 
 
"De Hine Foot er a he Frawg" 3 
 
 country, with a peculiar quiet cleanliness about its 
 long white roads and the genial blues and greens 
 of its meadows. 
 
 " Ain't I glad, O Lord ! " chanted the boy again. 
 
 The little girl stirred impatiently, her gaze flut- 
 tering from the landscape. 
 
 " Old Aunt Ailsey's conjured all the tails off 
 Sambo's sheep," she remarked, with feminine wile. 
 " I saw 'em hanging on her door." 
 
 "Oh, shucks! she can't conjure!" scoffed the 
 boy. " She's nothing but a free nigger, anyway — 
 and besides, she's plum crazy — " 
 
 " I saw 'em hanging on her door," steadfastly re- 
 peated the little girl. " The wind blew 'em right 
 out, an' there they were." 
 
 " Well, they wan't Sambo's sheep tails," retorted 
 the boy, conclusively, " 'cause Sambo's sheep ain't 
 got any tails." 
 
 Brought to bay, the little girl looked doubtfully up 
 and down the turnpike. " Maybe she conjured 'em 
 on first," she suggested at last. 
 
 " Oh, you're a regular baby, Betty," exclaimed 
 the boy, in disgust. " You'll be saying next that she 
 can make rattlesnake's teeth sprout out of the 
 ground." 
 
 " She's got a mighty funny garden patch," ad- 
 mitted Betty, still credulous. Then she jumped up 
 and ran along the road. " Here's Virginia ! " she 
 called sharply, " an' I beat her ! I beat her fair ! " 
 
 A second little girl came panting through the dust, 
 followed by a small negro boy with a shining black 
 face. " There's a wagon comin' roun' the curve," 
 she cried excitedly, " an' it's filled with old Mr. 
 
4 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Willis's servants. He's dead, and they're sold — 
 Dolly's sold, too." 
 
 She was a fragile little creature, coloured like a 
 flower, and her smooth brown hair hung in silken 
 braids to her sash. The strings of her white pique 
 bonnet lined with pink were daintily tied under her 
 oval chin ; there was no dust on her bare legs or 
 short white socks. 
 
 As she spoke there came the sound of voices 
 singing, and a moment later the wagon jogged 
 heavily round a tuft of stunted cedars which jutted 
 into the long curve of the highway. The wheels 
 crunched a loose stone in the road, and the driver 
 drawled a patient " gee-up " to the horses, as he 
 flicked at a horse-fly with the end of his long raw- 
 hide whip. There was about him an almost cosmic 
 good nature ; he regarded the landscape, the horses 
 and the rocks in the road with imperturbable ease. 
 
 Behind him, in the body of the wagon, the negro 
 women stood chanting the slave's farewell; and as 
 they neared the children, he looked back and spoke 
 persuasively. " I'd set down if I was you all," he 
 said. " You'd feel better, Thar, now, set down and 
 jolt softly." 
 
 But without turning the women kept up their 
 tremulous chant, bending their turbaned heads to 
 the imaginary faces upon the roadside. They had 
 left their audience behind them on the great planta- 
 tion, but they still sang to the empty road and cour- 
 tesied to the cedars upon the way. Excitement 
 gripped them like a frenzy — and a childish joy in 
 a coming change blended with a mother's yearning 
 over broken ties, 
 
" De Hine Foot er a he Frawg " 5 
 
 A bright mulatto led, standing at full height, and 
 her rich notes rolled like an organ beneath the shrill 
 plaint of her companions. She was large, deep- 
 bosomed, and comely after her kind, and in her 
 careless gestures there was something of the fine 
 fervour of the artist. She sang boldly, her full 
 body rocking from side to side, her bared arms 
 outstretched, her long throat swelling like a 
 bird's above the gaudy handkerchief upon her 
 breast. 
 
 The others followed her, half artlessly, half in 
 imitation, mingling with their words grunts of self- 
 approval. A grin ran from face to face as if thrown 
 by the grotesque flash of a lantern. Only a little 
 black woman crouching in one corner bowed her- 
 self and wept. 
 
 The children had fallen back against the stone 
 wall, where they hung staring. 
 
 " Good-by, Dolly ! " they called cheerfully, and 
 the woman answered with a long-drawn, hopeless 
 whine : — 
 
 " Gawd A'moughty bless you twel we 
 Meet agin." 
 
 Zeke broke from the group and ran a few steps 
 beside the wagon, shaking the outstretched hands. 
 
 The driver nodded peaceably to him, and cut 
 with a single stroke of his whip an intricate figure 
 in the sand of the road. " Git up an' come along 
 with us, sonny," he said cordially; but Zeke only 
 grinned in reply, and the children laughed and 
 waved their handkerchiefs from the wall. " Good- 
 by, Dolly, and Mirandy, and Sukey Sue ! " they 
 
6 The Battle-Ground 
 
 shouted, while the women, bowing over the rolling 
 wheels, tossed back a fragment of the song : — 
 
 " We hope ter meet you in heaven, whar we'll 
 Part no mo', 
 Whar we'll part no mo'; 
 Gawd A'moughty bless you twel we 
 Me — et a — gin." 
 
 " Twel we meet agin," chirped the little girls, 
 tripping into the chorus. 
 
 Then, with a last rumble, the wagon went by, and 
 Zeke came trotting back and straddled the stone 
 wall, where he sat looking down upon the loose pop- 
 pies that fringed the yellowed edge of the wheat. 
 
 " Dey's gwine way-way f 'om hyer, Marse 
 Champe," he said dreamily. " Dey's gwine right 
 spang over dar whar de sun done come f'om." 
 
 " Colonel Minor bought 'em," Champe ex- 
 plained, sliding from the wall, " and he bought 
 Dolly dirt cheap — I heard Uncle say so — " With 
 a grin he looked up at the small black figure perched 
 upon the crumbling stones. " You'd better look 
 out how you steal any more of my fishing lines, or 
 I'll sell you," he threatened. 
 
 " Gawd er live ! I ain' stole one on 'em sence 
 las' mont'," protested Zeke, as he turned a somer- 
 sault into the road, " en dat warn' stealin' 'case 
 hit warn' wu'th it," he added, rising to his feet and 
 staring wistfully after the wagon as it vanished in 
 a sunny cloud of dust. 
 
 Over the broad meadows, filled with scattered 
 wild flowers, the sound of the chant still floated, 
 with a shrill and troubled sweetness, upon the wind. 
 
" De Hine Foot er a he Frawg " 7 
 
 As he listened the little negro broke into a jubilant 
 refrain, beating his naked feet in the dust : — 
 
 " Gawd A'moughty bless you twel we 
 Me — et a — gin." 
 
 Then he looked slyly up at his young master. 
 
 " I 'low dar's one thing you cyarn do, Marse 
 Champe." 
 
 " I bet there isn't," retorted Champe. 
 
 " You kin sell me ter Marse Minor — but Lawd, 
 Lawd, you cyarn mek mammy leave off whuppin' 
 me. You cyarn do dat widout you 'uz a real ole 
 marster hese'f." 
 
 " I reckon I can," said Champe, indignantly. " I'd 
 just like to see her lay hands on you again. I can 
 make mammy leave off whipping him, can't I, 
 -Betty?" 
 
 But Betty, with a toss of her head, took her re- 
 venge. 
 
 " 'Tain't so long since yo' mammy whipped you," 
 she rejoined. " An' I reckon 'tain't so long since 
 you needed it." 
 
 As she stood there, a spirited little figure, in a 
 patch of faint sunshine, her hair threw a halo of red 
 gold about her head. When she smiled — and she 
 smiled now, saucily enough — her eyes had a trick 
 of narrowing until they became mere beams of light 
 between her lashes. Her eyes would smile, though 
 her lips were as prim as a preacher's. 
 
 Virginia gave a timid pull at Betty's frock. 
 " Champe's goin' home with us," she said, " his 
 uncle told him to — You're goin' home with us, 
 ain't you, Champe ? " 
 
 " I ain't goin' home," responded Betty, jerking 
 
8 The Battle-Ground 
 
 from Virginia's grasp. She stood warm yet reso- 
 lute in the middle of the road, her bonnet swinging 
 in her hands. " I ain't goin' home," she repeated. 
 
 Turning his back squarely upon her, Champe 
 broke into a whistle of unconcern. " You'd just 
 better come along," he called over his shoulder as 
 he started off. " You'd just better come along, or 
 you'll catch it." 
 
 " I ain't comin'," answered Betty, defiantly, and 
 as they passed away kicking the dust before them, 
 she swung her bonnet hard, and spoke aloud to her- 
 self. " I ain't comin'," she said stubbornly. 
 
 The distance lengthened; the three small figures 
 passed the wheat field, stopped for an instant to 
 gather green apples that had fallen from a stray 
 apple tree, and at last slowly dwindled into the 
 white streak of the road. She was alone on the 
 deserted turnpike. 
 
 For a moment she hesitated, caught her breath, 
 and even took three steps on the homeward way; 
 then turning suddenly she ran rapidly in the oppo- 
 site direction. Over the deepening shadows she 
 sped as lightly as a hare. 
 
 At the end of a half mile, when her breath came 
 in little pants, she stopped with a nervous start and 
 looked about her. The loneliness seemed drawing 
 closer like a mist, and the cry of a whip-poor-will 
 from the little stream in the meadow sent fright- 
 ened thrills, like needles, through her limbs. 
 
 Straight ahead the sun was setting in a pale red 
 west, against which the mountains stood out as if 
 sculptured in stone. On one side swept the pas- 
 ture where a few sheep browsed; on the other, at 
 
" De Hine Foot er a he Frawg " 9 
 
 the place where two roads met, there was a blasted 
 tree that threw its naked shadow across the turn- 
 pike. Beyond the tree and its shadow a well-worn 
 foot-path led to a small log cabin from which a 
 streak of smoke was rising. Through the open 
 door the single room within showed ruddy with 
 the blaze of resinous pine. 
 
 The little girl daintily picked her way along the 
 foot-path and through a short garden patch planted 
 in onions and black-eyed peas. Beside a bed of 
 sweet sage she faltered an instant and hung back. 
 " Aunt Ailsey," she called tremulously, " I want 
 to speak to you, Aunt Ailsey." She stepped upon 
 the smooth round stone which served for a doorstep 
 and looked into the room. " It's me, Aunt Ailsey ! 
 It's Betty Ambler," she said. 
 
 A slow shuffling began inside the cabin, and an 
 old negro woman hobbled presently to the daylight 
 and stood peering from under her hollowed palm. 
 She was palsied with age and blear-eyed with 
 trouble, and time had ironed all the kink out of the 
 thin gray locks that straggled across her brow. She 
 peered dimly at the child as one who looks from a 
 great distance. 
 
 " I lay dat's one er dese yer ole hoot owls," she 
 muttered querulously, " en ef'n 'tis, he des es well 
 be a-hootin' along home, caze I ain' gwine be pes- 
 tered wid his pranks. Dar ain' but one kind er 
 somebody es will sass you at yo' ve'y do,' en dat's a 
 hoot owl es is done loss count er de time er day — " 
 
 " I ain't an owl, Aunt Ailsey," meekly broke in 
 Betty, " an' I ain't hootin' at you — " 
 
 Aunt Ailsey reached out and touched her hair. 
 
io The Battle-Ground 
 
 " You ain' none er Marse Peyton's chile," she said. 
 " I'se done knowed de Amblers sence de fu'st one er 
 dem wuz riz, en dar ain' never been a'er Ambler wid 
 a carrot haid — " 
 
 The red ran .from Betty's curls into her face, but 
 she smiled politely as she followed Aunt Ailsey 
 into the cabin and sat down in a split-bottomed chair 
 upon the hearth. The walls were formed of rough, 
 unpolished logs, and upon them, as against an un- 
 finished background, the firelight threw reddish 
 shadows of the old woman and the child. Overhead, 
 from the uncovered rafters, hung several tattered 
 sheepskins, and around the great fireplace there was 
 a fringe of dead snakes and lizards, long since as 
 dry as dust. Under the blazing logs, which filled the 
 hut with an almost unbearable heat, an ashcake was 
 buried beneath a little gravelike mound of ashes. 
 
 Aunt Ailsey took up a corncob pipe from the 
 stones and fell to smoking. She sank at once into 
 a senile reverie, muttering beneath her breath with 
 short, meaningless grunts. Warm as the summer 
 evening was, she shivered before the glowing logs. 
 
 For a time the child sat patiently watching the 
 embers; then she leaned forward and touched the 
 old woman's knee. " Aunt Ailsey, O Aunt Ailsey ! " 
 
 Aunt Ailsey stirred wearily and crossed her 
 swollen feet upon the hearth. 
 
 " Dar ain' nuttin' but a hoot owl dat'll sass you 
 ter yo' face," she muttered, and, as she drew her 
 pipe from her mouth, the gray smoke circled about 
 her head. 
 
 The child edged nearer. " I want to speak to you, 
 Aunt Ailsey," she said. She seized the withered 
 
" De Hine Foot er a he Frawg " 1 1 
 
 hand and held it close in her own rosy ones. " I 
 want you — O Aunt Ailsey, listen! I want you to 
 conjure my hair coal black." 
 
 She finished with a gasp, and with parted lips 
 sat waiting. " Coal black, Aunt Ailsey ! " she cried 
 again. 
 
 A sudden excitement awoke in the old woman's 
 face ; her hands shook and she leaned nearer. " Hi ! 
 who dat done tole you I could conjure, honey? " she 
 demanded. 
 
 " Oh, you can, I know you can. You conjured 
 back Sukey's lover from Eliza Lou, and you con- 
 jured all the pains out of Uncle Shadrach's leg." 
 She fell on her knees and laid her head in the old 
 woman's lap. " Conjure quick and I won't holler," 
 she said. 
 
 "Gawd in heaven!" exclaimed Aunt Ailsey. 
 Her dim old eyes brightened as she gently stroked 
 the child's brow with her palsied fingers. " Dis yer 
 ain' no way ter conjure, honey," she whispered. 
 " You des wait twel de full er de moon, w'en de 
 devil walks de big road." She was wandering 
 again after the fancies of dotage, but Betty threw 
 herself upon her. " Oh, change it ! change it ! " 
 cried the child. " Beg the devil to come and change 
 it quick." 
 
 Brought back to herself, Aunt Ailsey grunted and 
 knocked the ashes from her pipe. " I ain' gwine ter 
 ax no favors er de devil," she replied sternly. " You 
 des let de devil alont en he'll let you alont. I'se 
 done been young, en I'se now ole, en I ain' never 
 seed de devil stick his mouf in anybody's bizness 
 'fo' he's axed." 
 
12 The Battle-Ground 
 
 She bent over and raked the ashes from her cake 
 with a lightwood splinter. " Dis yer's gwine tase 
 moughty flat-footed," she grumbled as she did so. 
 
 " O Aunt Ailsey," wailed Betty in despair. The 
 tears shone in her eyes and rolled slowly down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Dar now," said Aunt Ailsey, soothingly, " you 
 des set right still en wait twel ter-night at de full er 
 de moon." She got up and took down one of the 
 crumbling skins from the chimney-piece. " Ef'n de 
 hine foot er a he frawg cyarn tu'n yo' hyar decent," 
 she said, " dar ain' nuttin' de Lawd's done made es 
 '11 do hit. You des wrop er hank er yo' hyar roun' 
 de hine foot, honey, en' w'en de night time done 
 come, you teck'n hide it unner a rock in de big road. 
 W'en de devil goes a-cotin' at de full er de moon — 
 en he been cotin' right stiddy roun' dese yer parts — 
 he gwine tase dat ar frawg foot a mile off." 
 
 " A mile off ? " repeated the child, stretching out 
 her hands. 
 
 " Yes, Lawd, he gwine tase dat ar frawg foot a 
 mile off, en w'en he tase hit, he gwine begin ter 
 sniff en ter snuff. He gwine sniff en he gwine 
 snuff, en he gwine sniff en he gwine snuff twel he 
 run right spang agin de rock in de middle er de 
 road. Den he gwine paw en paw twel he root de 
 rock clean up." 
 
 The little girl looked up eagerly. 
 
 " An' my hair, Aunt Ailsey ? " 
 
 " De devil he gwine teck cyar er yo' hyar, honey. 
 W'en he come a-sniffin' en a-snuffin' roun' de rock 
 in de big road, he gwine spit out flame en smoke en 
 yo' hyar hit's gwine ter ketch en hit's gwine ter bu'n 
 
**De Hine Foot er a he Frawg" 13 
 
 right black. Fo' de sun up yo' haid's gwine ter be 
 es black es a crow's foot." 
 
 The child dried her tears and sprang up. She 
 tied the frog's skin tightly in her handkerchief and 
 started toward the door; then she hesitated and 
 looked back. " Were you alive at the flood, Aunt 
 Ailsey ? " she politely inquired. 
 
 " Des es live es I is now, honey." 
 
 " Then you must have seen Noah and the ark 
 and all the animals ? " 
 
 " Des es plain es I see you. Marse Noah ? Why, 
 I'se done wash en i'on Marse Noah's shuts twel I 
 'uz right stiff in de j'ints. He ain' never let nobody 
 flute his frills fur 'im 'cep'n' me. Lawd, Lawd, 
 Marse Peyton's shuts warn' nuttin ter Marse 
 Noah's ! " 
 
 Betty's eyes grew big. " I reckon you're mighty 
 old, Aunt Ailsey — 'most as old as God, ain't you ? " 
 
 Aunt Ailsey pondered the question. " I ain' 
 sayin' dat, honey," she modestly replied. 
 
 " Then you're certainly as old as the devil — you 
 must be," hopefully suggested the little girl. 
 
 The old woman wavered. " Well, de devil, he ain' 
 never let on his age," she said at last ; " but w'en I 
 fust lay eyes on 'im, he warn' no mo'n a brat." 
 
 Standing upon the threshold for an instant, the 
 child reverently regarded her. Then, turning her 
 back upon the fireplace and the bent old figure, she 
 ran out into the twilight, 
 
II 
 
 AT THE FULL OF THE MOOlf 
 
 By the light of the big moon hanging like a lan- 
 tern in the topmost pine upon a distant mountain, 
 the child sped swiftly along the turnpike. 
 
 It was a still, clear evening, and on the sum- 
 mits of the eastern hills a fringe of ragged firs 
 stood out illuminated against the sky. In the 
 warm June weather the whole land was fragrant 
 from the flower of the wild grape. 
 
 When she had gone but a little way, the noise of 
 wheels reached her suddenly, and she shrank into 
 the shadow beside the wall. A cloud of dust 
 chased toward her as the wheels came steadily on. 
 They were evidently ancient, for they turned with 
 a protesting creak which was heard long before the 
 high, old-fashioned coach they carried swung into 
 view — long indeed before the driver's whip 
 cracked in the air. 
 
 As the coach neared the child, she stepped boldly 
 out into the road — it was only Major Lightfoot, 
 the owner of the next plantation, returning, be- 
 lated, from the town. 
 
 " Wat you doin' dar, chile ? " demanded a stern 
 voice from the box, and, at the words, the Major's 
 head was thrust through the open window, and his 
 long white hair waved in the breeze. 
 
At the Full of the Moon 15 
 
 " Is that you, Betty ? " he asked, in surprise. 
 " Why, I thought it was the duty of that nephew 
 of mine to see you home." 
 
 " I wouldn't let him," replied the child. " I don't 
 like boys, sir." 
 
 "You don't, eh?" chuckled the Major. "Well, 
 there's time enough for that, I suppose. You can 
 make up to them ten years hence, — and you'll be 
 glad enough to do it then, I warrant you, — but are 
 you all alone, young lady ? " As Betty nodded, he 
 opened the door and stepped gingerly down. " I 
 can't turn the horses' heads, poor things," he ex- 
 plained ; " but if you will allow me, I shall have 
 the pleasure of escorting you on foot." 
 
 With his hat in his hand, he smiled down upon 
 the little girl, his face shining warm and red above 
 his pointed collar and broad black stock. He was 
 very tall and spare, and his eyebrows, which hung 
 thick and dark above his Roman nose, gave him an 
 odd resemblance to a bird of prey. The smile flashed 
 like an artificial light across his austere features. 
 
 " Since my arm is too high for you," he said, 
 " will you have my hand ? — Yes, you may drive on, 
 Big Abel," to the driver, " and remember to take 
 out those bulbs of Spanish lilies for your mistress. 
 You will find them under the seat." 
 
 The whip cracked again above the fat old roans, 
 and with a great creak the coach rolled on its way. 
 
 "I — I — if you please, I'd rather you wouldn't," 
 stammered the child. 
 
 The Major chuckled again, still holding out his 
 hand. Had she been eighty instead of eight, the 
 gesture could not have expressed more deference. 
 
1 6 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " So you don't like old men any better than boys! " 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, I do — heaps," said Betty. She 
 transferred the frog's foot to her left hand, and gave 
 him her right one. " When I marry, I'm going to 
 marry a very old gentleman — as old as you," she 
 added flatteringly. 
 
 " You honour me," returned the Major, with a 
 bow ; " but there's nothing like youth, my dear, 
 nothing like youth." He ended sadly, for he had 
 been a gay young blood in his time, and the en- 
 chantment of his wild oats had increased as he 
 passed further from the sowing of them. He had 
 lived to regret both the loss of his gayety and the 
 languor of his blood, and, as he drifted further 
 from the middle years, he had at last yielded to 
 tranquillity with a sigh. In his day he had matched 
 any man in Virginia at cards or wine or women — to 
 say nothing of horseflesh ; now his white hairs had 
 brought him but a fond, pale memory of his mis- 
 deeds and the boast that he knew his world — that 
 he knew all his world, indeed, except his wife. 
 
 " Ah, there's nothing like youth ! " he sighed over 
 to himself, and the child looked up and laughed. 
 
 " Why do you say that ? " she asked. 
 
 " You will know some day," replied the Major. 
 He drew himself erect in his tight black broadcloth, 
 and thrust out his chin between the high points of his 
 collar. His long white hair, falling beneath his 
 hat, framed his ruddy face in silver. " There are 
 the lights of Uplands," he said suddenly, with a 
 wave of his hand. 
 
 Betty quickened her pace to his, and they went on 
 
At the Full of the Moon 17 
 
 in silence. Through the thick grove that ended at 
 the roadside she saw the windows of her home 
 flaming amid the darkness. Farther away there 
 were the small lights of the negro cabins in the 
 " quarters," and a great one from the barn door 
 where the field hands were strumming upon their 
 banjos. 
 
 " I reckon supper's ready," she remarked, walk- 
 ing faster. " Yonder comes Peter, from the kitchen 
 with the waffles." 
 
 They entered an iron gate that opened from the 
 road, and went up a lane of lilac bushes to the long 
 stuccoed house, set with detached wings in a grove 
 of maples. " Why, there's papa looking for me," 
 cried the child, as a man's figure darkened the 
 square of light from the hall and came between the 
 Doric columns of the portico down into the drive. 
 
 " You won't have to search far, Governor," called 
 the Major, in his ringing voice, and, as the other 
 came up to him, he stopped to shake hands. " Miss 
 Betty has given me the pleasure of a stroll with 
 her." 
 
 " Ah, it was like you, Major," returned the other, 
 heartily. " I'm afraid it isn't good for your gout, 
 though." 
 
 He was a small, soldierly-looking man, with a 
 clean-shaven, classic face, and thick, brown hair, 
 slightly streaked with gray. Beside the Major's 
 gaunt figure he appeared singularly boyish, though 
 he held himself severely to the number of his inches, 
 and even added, by means of a simplicity almost 
 august, a full cubit to his stature. Ten years be- 
 fore he had been governor of his state, and to his 
 
1 8 The Battlc-Ground 
 
 friends and neighbours the empty honour, at least, 
 was still his own. 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! " the older man protested airily^ 
 u the gout's like a woman, my dear sir — if you be- 
 gin to humour it, you'll get no rest. If you deny 
 yourself a half bottle of port, the other half will 
 soon follow. No, no, I say — put a bold foot on the 
 matter. Don't give up a good thing for the sake 
 of a bad one, sir. I remember my grandfather in 
 England telling me that at his first twinge of gout 
 he took a glass of sherry, and at the second he took 
 two. ' What ! would you have my toe become my 
 master ? ' he roared to the doctor. ' I wouldn't give 
 in if it were my whole confounded foot, sir! ' Oh, 
 those were ripe days, Governor ! " 
 
 " A little overripe for the toe, I fear, Major." 
 
 " Well, well, we're sober enough now, sir, sober 
 enough and to spare. Even the races are dull 
 things. I've just been in to have a look at that 
 new mare Tom Bickels is putting on the track, and 
 bless my soul, she can't hold a candle to the Brown 
 Bess I ran twenty years ago — you don't remember 
 Brown Bess, eh, Governor ? " 
 
 " Why, to be sure," said the Governor. " I can 
 see her as if it were yesterday, — and a beauty she 
 was, too, — but come in to supper with us, my dear 
 Major; we were just sitting down. No, i shan't 
 take an excuse — come in, sir, come in." 
 
 " No, no, thank you," returned the Major. 
 " Molly's waiting, and Molly doesn't like to wait, 
 you know. I got dinner at Merry Oaks tavern by 
 the way, and a mighty bad one, too, but the worst 
 thing about it was that they actually had the impu* 
 
At the Full of the Moon 19 
 
 dence to put me at the table with an abolitionist. 
 Why, I'd as soon eat with a darkey, sir, and so I told 
 him, so I told him ! " 
 
 The Governor laughed, his fine, brown eyes 
 twinkling in the gloom, " You were always a maa 
 of your word," he said ; " so I must tell Julia to 
 mend her views before she asks you to dine. She 
 has just had me draw up my will and free the ser- 
 vants. There's no withstanding Julia, you know, 
 Major." 
 
 " You have an angel," declared the other, " and 
 she gets lovelier every day; my regards to her, — 
 and to her aunts, sir. Ah, good night, good night," 
 and with a last cordial gesture he started rapidly 
 upon his homeward way. 
 
 Betty caught the Governor's hand and went with 
 him into the house. As they entered the hall, Uncle 
 Shadrach, the head butler, looked out to reprimand 
 her. " Ef'n anybody 'cep'n Marse Peyton had 
 cotch you, you'd er des been lammed," he grumbled. 
 " An' papa was real mad ! " called Virginia from 
 the table. 
 
 " That's jest a story ! " cried Betty. Still cling- 
 ing to her father's hand, she entered the dining 
 room ; " that's jest a story, papa," she repeated. 
 
 " No, I'm not angry," laughed the Governor. 
 " There, my dear, for heaven's sake don't strangle 
 me. Your mother's the one for you to hang on. 
 Can't you see what a rage she's in ? " 
 
 " My dear Mr. Ambler," remonstrated his wife, 
 looking over the high old silver service. She was 
 very frail and gentle, and her voice was hardly more 
 than a clear whisper. " No, no, Betty, you must 
 
20 The Battle-Ground 
 
 go up and wash your face first," she added de- 
 cisively. 
 
 The Governor sat down and unfolded his nap- 
 kin, beaming hospitality upon his food and his 
 family. He surveyed his wife, her two maiden 
 aunts and his own elder brother with the ineffable 
 good humour he bestowed upon the majestic home- 
 cured ham fresh from a bath of Madeira. 
 
 " I am glad to see you looking so well, my dear," 
 he remarked to his wife, with a courtliness in 
 which there was less polish than personality. " Ah, 
 Miss Lydia, I know whom to thank for this," he 
 added, taking up a pale tea rosebud from his plate, 
 and bowing to one of the two old ladies seated beside 
 his wife. " Have you noticed, Julia, that even the 
 roses have become more plentiful since your aunts 
 did us the honour to come to us ? " 
 
 " I am sure the garden ought to be grateful to 
 Aunt Lydia," said his wife, with a pleased smile, 
 " and the quinces to Aunt Pussy," she added 
 quickly, " for they were never preserved so well 
 before." 
 
 The two old ladies blushed and cast down their 
 eyes, as they did every evening at the same kindly 
 by-play. " You know I am very glad to be of 
 use, my dear Julia," returned Miss Pussy, with con- 
 scious virtue. Miss Lydia, who was tall and deli- 
 cate and bent with the weight of potential sanctity, 
 shook her silvery head and folded her exquisite 
 old hands beneath the ruffles of her muslin under- 
 sleeves. She wore her hair in shining folds be- 
 neath her thread-lace cap, and her soft brown eyes 
 still threw a youthful lustre over the faded pallof 
 of her face. 
 
At the Full of the Moon ai 
 
 " Pussy has always had a wonderful talent for 
 preserving," she murmured plaintively. " It makes 
 me regret my own uselessness." 
 
 " Uselessness ! " warmly protested the Governor. 
 " My dear Miss Lydia, your mere existence is a 
 blessing to mankind. A lovely woman is never use- 
 less, eh, Brother Bill?" 
 
 Mr. Bill, a stout and bashful gentleman, who 
 never wasted words, merely bowed over his plate ; 
 and went on with his supper. There was a theory 
 in the family — a theory romantic old Miss Lydia 
 still hung hard by — that Mr. Bill's peculiar apathy 
 was of a sentimental origin. Nearly thirty years 
 before he had made a series of mild advances to his 
 second cousin, Virginia Ambler — and her early 
 death before their polite vows were plighted had, 
 in the eyes of his friends, doomed the morose Mr. 
 Bill to the position of a perpetual mourner. 
 
 Now, as he shook his head and helped himself to 
 chicken, Miss Lydia sighed in sympathy. 
 
 " I am afraid Mr. Bill must find us very flippant," 
 she offered as a gentle reproof to the Governor. 
 
 Mr. Bill started and cast a frightened glance 
 across the table. Thirty years are not as a day, and, 
 after all, his emotion had been hardly more than 
 he would have felt for a prize perch that had wrig- 
 gled from his line into the stream. The perch, in- 
 deed, would have represented more appropriately 
 the passion of his life — though a lukewarm lover, 
 he was an ardent angler. 
 
 " Ah, Brother Bill understands us," cheerfully 
 interposed the Governor. His keen eyes had noted 
 Mr. Bill's alarm as they noted the emptiness of 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15—2 
 
22 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Miss Pussy's cup. " By the way, Julia," he went 
 on with a change of the subject, " Major Lightfoot 
 found Betty in the road and brought her home. 
 The little rogue had run away." 
 
 Mrs. Ambler filled Miss Pussy's cup and pressed 
 Mr. Bill to take a slice of Sally Lunn. " The Major 
 is so broken that it saddens me," she said, when 
 these offices of hostess were accomplished. " He 
 has never been himself since his daughter ran away, 
 and that was — dear me, why that was twelve years 
 ago next Christmas. It was on Christmas Eve, you 
 remember, he came to tell us. The house was 
 dressed in evergreens, and Uncle Patrick was mak- 
 ing punch." 
 
 " Poor Patrick was a hard drinker," sighed Miss 
 Lydia ; " but he was a citizen of the world, my 
 dear." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I perfectly recall the evening," said 
 the Governor, thoughtfully. " The young people 
 were just forming for a reel and you and I were of 
 them, my dear, — it was the year, I remember, 
 that the mistletoe was brought home in a cart, — 
 when the door opened and in came the Major. 'Jane 
 has run away with that dirty scamp Mont joy/ he 
 said, and was out again and on his horse before we 
 caught the words. He rode like a madman that 
 night. I can see him now, splashing through the 
 mud with Big Abel after him." 
 
 Betty came running in with smiling eyes, and 
 fluttered into her seat. " I got here before the 
 waffles," she cried. " Mammy said I wouldn't. 
 Uncle Shadrach, I got here before you ! " 
 
 " Dat's so, honey," responded Uncle Shadrach 
 
At the Full of the Moon aj 
 
 from behind the Governor's chair. He was so like 
 his master — commanding port, elaborate shirt- 
 front, and high white stock — that the Major, in a 
 moment of merry-making, had once dubbed him 
 " the Governor's silhouette." 
 
 " Say your grace, dear," remonstrated Miss Lydia, 
 as the child shook out her napkin. " It's always 
 proper to offer thanks standing, you know. I re- 
 member your great-grandmother telling me that 
 once when she dined at the White House, when her 
 father was in Congress, the President forgot to say 
 grace, and made them all get up again after they 
 were seated. Now, for what are we about — " 
 
 " Oh, papa thanked for me," cried Betty. " Didn't 
 you, papa ? " 
 
 The Governor smiled; but catching his wife's 
 eyes, he quickly forced his benign features into a 
 frowning mask. 
 
 " Do as your aunt tells you, Betty," said Mrs. 
 Ambler, and Betty got up and said grace, while 
 Virginia took the brownest waffle. When the 
 thanksgiving was ended, she turned indignantly 
 upon her sister. " That was just a sly, mean trick ! " 
 she cried in a flash of temper. " You saw my eye 
 on that waffle ! " 
 
 " My dear, my dear," murmured Miss Lydia. 
 
 " She's des an our/n out fire bran', dat's w'at she 
 is," said Uncle Shadrach. 
 
 " Well, the Lord oughtn't to have let her take it 
 just as I was thanking Him for it ! " sobbed Betty, 
 and she burst into tears and left the table, upsetting 
 Mr. Bill's coffee cup as she went by. 
 
 The Governor looked gravely after her. " I'm 
 
24 The Battle-Ground 
 
 afraid the child is really getting spoiled, Julia," he 
 mildly suggested. 
 
 " She's getting a — a vixenish," declared Mr. 
 Bill, mopping his expansive white waistcoat. 
 
 " You des better lemme go atter a twig er wil- 
 low, Marse Peyton," muttered Uncle Shadrach in 
 the Governor's ear. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Shadrach," retorted the 
 Governor, which was the harshest command he was 
 ever known to give his servants. 
 
 Virginia ate her waffle and said nothing. When 
 she went upstairs a little later, she carried a pitcher 
 of buttermilk for Betty's face. 
 
 " It isn't usual for a young lady to have freckles, 
 Aunt Lydia says," she remarked, " and you must 
 rub this right on and not wash it off till morning — 
 and, after you've rubbed it well in, you must get 
 down on your knees and ask God to mend your 
 temper." 
 
 Betty was lying in her little trundle bed, while 
 Petunia, her small black maid, pulled off her stock- 
 ings, but she got up obediently and laved her face 
 in buttermilk. " I don't reckon there's any use about 
 the other," she said. " I believe the Lord's jest 
 leavin' me in sin as a warnin' to you and 
 Petunia," and she got into her trundle bed and 
 waited for the lights to go out, and for the watchful 
 Virginia to fall asleep. 
 
 She was still waiting when the door softly opened 
 and her mother came in, a lighted candle in her 
 hand, the pale flame shining through her profile 
 as through delicate porcelain, and illumining her 
 worn and fragile figure. She moved with a slow 
 
At the Full of the Moon 25 
 
 ft'tep, as if her white limbs were a burden, and her 
 head, with its smoothly parted bright brown hair, 
 bent like a lily that has begun to fade. 
 
 She sat down upon the bedside and laid her hand 
 on the child's forehead. " Poor little firebrand," she 
 said gently. " How the world will hurt you ! " 
 Then she knelt down and prayed beside her, and 
 went out again with the white light streaming upon 
 her bosom. An hour later Betty heard her soft, 
 slow step on the gravelled drive and knew that she 
 was starting on a ministering errand to the quar- 
 ters. Of all the souls on the great plantation, the 
 mistress alone had never rested from her labours. 
 
 The child tossed restlessly, beat her pillow, and 
 fell back to wait more patiently. At last the yel- 
 low strip under the door grew dark, and from the 
 other trundle bed there came a muffled breathing. 
 With a sigh, Betty sat up and listened; then she 
 drew the frog's skin from beneath her pillow and 
 crept on bare feet to the door. It was black there, 
 and black all down the wide, old staircase. The 
 great hall below was like a cavern underground. 
 Trembling when a board creaked under her, she 
 cautiously felt her way with her hands on the bal- 
 ustrade. The front door was fastened with an iron 
 chain that rattled as she touched it, so she stole into 
 the dining room, unbarred one of the long win- 
 dows, and slipped noiselessly out. It was almost 
 like sliding into sunshine, the moon was so large 
 and bright. 
 
 From the wide stone portico, the great white 
 columns, looking grim and ghostly, went upward 
 to the roof, and beyond the steps the gravelled drive 
 
26 The Battle-Ground 
 
 shone hard as silver. As the child went between 
 the lilac bushes, the moving shadows crawled under 
 her bare feet like living things. 
 
 At the foot of the drive ran the big road, and 
 when she came out upon it her trailing gown 
 caught in a fallen branch, and she fell on her face. 
 Picking herself up again, she sat on a loosened 
 rock and looked about her. 
 
 The strong night wind blew on her flesh, and she 
 shivered in the moonlight, which felt cold and 
 brazen. Before her stretched the turnpike, dark- 
 ened by shadows that bore no likeness to the objects 
 from which they borrowed shape. Far as eye could 
 see, they stirred ceaselessly back and forth like an 
 encamped army of grotesques. 
 
 She got up from the rock and slipped the frog's 
 skin into the earth beneath it. As she settled it in 
 place, her pulses gave a startled leap, and she stood 
 terror-stricken beside the stone. A thud 5 of foot- 
 steps was coming along the road. 
 
 For an instant she trembled in silence; then her 
 sturdy little heart took courage, and she held up 
 her hand. 
 
 " If you'll wait a minute, Mr. Devil, I'm goin' 
 in," she cried. 
 
 From the shadows a voice laughed at her, and a 
 boy came forward into the light — a half-starved 
 boy, with a white, pinched face and a dusty bundle 
 swinging from the stick upon his shoulder. 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " he snapped out. 
 
 Betty gave back a defiant stare. She might 
 have been a tiny ghost in the moonlight, with her 
 trailing gown and her flaming curls 
 
At the Full of the Moon 27 
 
 " I live here," she answered simply. " Where do 
 you live ? " 
 
 " Nowhere." He looked her over with a laugh. 
 
 "Nowhere?" 
 
 " I did live somewhere, but I ran away a week 
 ago." 
 
 " Did they beat you ? Old Rainy-day Jones beat 
 one of his servants and he ran away." 
 
 " There wasn't anybody," said the boy. " My 
 mother died, and my father went off — I hope he'll 
 stay off. I hate him ! " 
 
 He sent the words out so sharply that Betty's lids 
 flinched. 
 
 " Why did you come by here ? " she questioned,, 
 " Are you looking for the devil, too ? " 
 
 The boy laughed again. " I am looking for my 
 grandfather. He lives somewhere on this road, 
 at a place named Chericoke. It has a lot of elms in 
 the yard; I'll know it by that." 
 
 Betty caught his arm and drew him nearer. 
 " Why, that's where Champe lives ! " she cried. " I 
 don't like Champe much, do you ? " 
 
 " I never saw him," replied the boy ; " but I don't 
 like him — " 
 
 " He's mighty good," said Betty, honestly ; then, 
 as she looked at the boy again, she caught her 
 breath quickly. " You do look terribly hungry," she 
 added. 
 
 " I haven't had anything since — since yesterday." 
 
 The little girl thoughtfully tapped her toes on 
 the road. " There's a currant pie in the safe," she 
 said. " I saw Uncle Shadrach put it there. Are 
 you fond of currant pie? — then you just wait! " 
 
28 The Battle-Ground 
 
 She ran up the carriage way to the dining-room 
 window, and the boy sat down on the rock and 
 buried his face in his hands. His feet were set stub- 
 bornly in the road, and the bundle lay beside them. 
 He was dumb, yet disdainful, like a high-bred dog 
 that has been beaten and turned adrift. 
 
 As the returning patter of Betty's feet sounded in 
 the drive, he looked up and held out his hands. 
 When she gave him the pie, he ate almost wolfishly, 
 licking the crumbs from his fingers, and even pick- 
 ing up a bit of crust that had fallen to the 
 ground. 
 
 " I'm sorry there isn't any more," said the little 
 girl. It had seemed a very large pie when she took 
 it from the safe. 
 
 The boy rose, shook himself, and swung his bun- 
 dle across his arm. 
 
 " Will you tell me the way ? " he asked, and she 
 gave him a few childish directions. " You go past 
 the wheat field an' past the maple spring, an' at the 
 dead tree by Aunt Ailsey's cabin you turn into the 
 road with the chestnuts. Then you just keep on 
 till you get there — an' if you don't ever get there, 
 come back to breakfast." 
 
 The boy had started off, but as she ended, he 
 turned and lifted his hat. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you," he said, with' 
 a quaint little bow ; and Betty bobbed a courtesy in 
 her nightgown before she fled back into the house. 
 
Ill 
 
 THE COMING OF THE BOY 
 
 The boy trudged on bravely, his stick sounding" 
 the road. Sharp pains ran through his feet where 
 his shoes had worn away, and his head was swim- 
 ming like a top. The only pleasant fact of which he 
 had consciousness was that the taste of the currants 
 still lingered in his mouth. 
 
 When he reached the maple spring, he swung 
 himself over the stone wall and knelt down for a 
 drink, dipping the water in his hand. The spring 
 was low and damp and fragrant with the breath of 
 mint which grew in patches in the little stream. 
 Overhead a wild grapevine was festooned, and he 
 plucked a leaf and bent it into a cup from which he 
 drank. Then he climbed the wall again and went 
 on his way. 
 
 He was wondering if his mother had ever walked 
 along this road on so brilliant a night. There was 
 not a tree beside it of which she had not told him 
 
 — not a shrub of sassafras or sumach that she had 
 not carried in her thoughts. The clump of cedars, 
 the wild cherry, flowering in the spring like snow, 
 the blasted oak that stood where the branch roads 
 met, the. perfume of the grape blossoms on the wall 
 
 — these were as familiar to him as the streets of the 
 little crowded town in which he had lived. It was as 
 if nature had stood still here for twelve long suna- 
 
 «9 
 
30 The Battle-Ground 
 
 mers, or as if he were walking, ghostlike, amid the 
 ever present memories of his mother's heart. 
 
 His mother ! He drew his sleeve across his eyes 
 and went on more slowly. She was beside him on 
 the road, and he saw her clearly, as he had seen her 
 every day until last year — a bright, dark woman, 
 with slender, blue-veined hands and merry eyes 
 that all her tears had not saddened. He saw her 
 in a long, black dress, with upraised arm, putting 
 back a crepe veil from her merry eyes, and smiling 
 as his father struck her. She had always smiled 
 when she was hurt — even when the blow was 
 heavier than usual, and the blood gushed from her 
 temple, she had fallen with a smile. And when, at 
 last, he had seen her lying in her coffin with her 
 baby under her clasped hands, that same smile had 
 been fixed upon her face, which had the brightness 
 and the chill repose of marble. 
 
 Of all that she had thrown away in her foolish 
 marriage, she had retained one thing only — her 
 pride. To the end she had faced her fate with all 
 the insolence with which she faced her husband. 
 And yet — " the Lightfoots were never proud, my 
 son," she used to say; "they have no false pride, 
 but they know their place, and in England, between 
 you and me, they were more important than the 
 Washingtons. Not that the General wasn't a great 
 man, dear, he was a very great soldier, of course — 
 and in his youth, you know, he was an admirer of 
 your Great-great-aunt Emmeline. But she — why, 
 she was the beauty and belle of two continents — 
 there's an ottoman at home covered with a piece of 
 her wedding dress." 
 
The Coming of the Boy 31 
 
 And the house? Was the house still as she had 
 left it on that Christmas Eve ? "A simple gentle- 
 man's home, my child — not so imposing as Up- 
 lands, with its pillars reaching to the roof, but 
 older, oh, much older, and built of brick that was 
 brought all the way from England, and over the 
 fireplace in the panelled parlour you will find the 
 Lightfoot arms. 
 
 " It was in that parlour, dear, that grandmamma 
 danced a minuet with General Lafayette; it looks 
 out, you know, upon a white thorn planted by the 
 General himself, and one of the windows has not 
 been opened for fifty years, because the spray of 
 English ivy your Great-aunt Emmeline set out with 
 her own hands has grown across the sash. Now 
 the window is quite dark with leaves, though you 
 can still read the words Aunt Emmeline cut with 
 her diamond ring in one of the tiny panes, when 
 young Harry Fitzhugh came in upon her just as she 
 had written a refusal to an English earl. She was 
 sitting in the window seat with the letter in her 
 hand, and, when your Great-uncle Harry — she 
 afterwards married him, you know — fell on his 
 knees and cried out that others might offer her fame 
 and wealth, but that he had nothing except love, 
 she turned, with a smile, and wrote upon the pane 
 ' Love is best.' You can still see the words, very 
 faint against the ivy that she planted on her wed- 
 ding day — " 
 
 Oh, yes, he knew it all — Great-aunt Emmeline 
 was but the abiding presence of the place. He 
 knew the lawn with its grove of elms that over- 
 topped the peaked roof, the hall, with its shining 
 
32 The Battle-Ground 
 
 floor and detached staircase that crooked itself in 
 the centre where the tall clock stood, and, best of 
 all, the white panels of the parlour where hung the 
 portrait of that same fascinating great-aunt, painted, 
 in amber brocade, as Venus with the apple in her 
 hand. 
 
 And his grandmother, herself, in her stiff black 
 silk, with a square of lace turned back from her thin 
 throat and a fluted cap above her corkscrew curls 
 — her daguerreotype, taken in all her pride and her 
 precision, was tied up in the bundle swinging on his 
 arm. 
 
 He passed Aunt Ailsey's cabin, and turned into 
 the road with the chestnuts. A mile farther he 
 came suddenly upon the house, standing amid the 
 grove of elms, dwarfed by the giant trees that arched 
 above it. A dog's bark sounded snappily from a 
 kennel, but he paid no heed. He went up the broad 
 white walk, climbed the steps to the square front 
 porch, and lifted the great brass knocker. When he 
 let it fall, the sound echoed through the shuttered 
 house. 
 
 The Major, who was sitting in his library with a 
 volume of Mr. Addison open before him and a de- 
 canter of Burgundy at his right hand, heard the 
 knock, and started to his feet. " Something's gone 
 wrong at Uplands," he said aloud ; " there's an ill- 
 ness — or the brandy is out." He closed the book, 
 pushed aside the bedroom candle which he had 
 been about to light, and went out into the hall. As 
 he unbarred the door and flung it open, he began at 
 ©nee: — 
 
 " I hope there's no ill news," he exclaimed. 
 
The Coming of the Boy 33 
 
 The boy came into the hall, where he stood blink- 
 ing from the glare of the lamplight. His head 
 whirled, and he reached out to steady himself 
 against the door. Then he carefully laid down his 
 bundle and looked up with his mother's smile. 
 
 " You're my grandfather, and I'm very hungry," 
 he said. 
 
 The Major caught the child's shoulders and drew 
 him, almost roughly, under the light. As he tow- 
 ered there above him, he gulped down something in 
 his throat, and his wide nostrils twitched. 
 
 " So you're poor Jane's boy ? " he said at last. 
 
 The boy nodded. He felt suddenly afraid of the 
 spare old man with his long Roman nose and his 
 fierce black eyebrows. A mist gathered before his 
 eyes and the lamp shone like a great moon in a 
 cloudy circle. 
 
 The Major looked at the bundle on the floor, and 
 again he swallowed. Then he stooped and picked 
 up the thing and turned away. 
 
 " Come in, sir, come in," he said in a knotty voice. 
 " You are at home." 
 
 The boy followed him, and they passed the pan- 
 elled parlour, from which he caught a glimpse of the 
 painting of Great-aunt Emmeline, and went into 
 the dining room, where his grandfather pulled out 
 a chair and bade him to be seated. As the old man 
 opened the huge mahogany sideboard and brought 
 out a shoulder of cold lamb and a plate of bread 
 and butter, he questioned him with a quaint cour- 
 tesy about his life in town and the details of his 
 journey. " Why, bless my soul, you've walked two 
 hundred miles," he cried, stopping on his way from 
 
34 The Battle-Ground 
 
 the pantry, with the ham held out. " And no 
 money ! Why, bless my soul ! " 
 
 " I had fifty cents," said the boy, " that was left 
 from my steamboat fare, you know." 
 
 The Major put the ham on the table and attacked 
 it grimly with the carving-knife. 
 
 " Fifty cents," he whistled, and then, " you 
 begged, I reckon ? " 
 
 The boy flushed. " I asked for bread," he re- 
 plied, stung to the defensive. " They always gave 
 me bread and sometimes meat, and they let me 
 sleep in the barns where the straw was, and once a 
 woman took me into her house and offered me 
 money, but I would not take it. I — I think I'd like 
 to send her a present, if you please, sir." 
 
 " She shall have a dozen bottles of my best Ma- 
 deira," cried the Major. The word recalled him 
 to himself, and he got up and raised the lid of the 
 cellaret, lovingly running his hand over the rows 
 of bottles. 
 
 " A pig would be better, I think," said the boy, 
 doubtfully, " or a cow, if you could afford it. She 
 is a poor woman, you know." 
 
 "Afford it!" chuckled the Major. "Why, I'll 
 sell your grandmother's silver, but I'll afford it, 
 sir." 
 
 He took out a bottle, held it against the light, and 
 filled a wine glass. " This is the finest port in Vir- 
 ginia," he declared ; " there is life in every drop of 
 it. Drink it down," and, when the boy had taken 
 it, he filled his own glass and tossed it off, not lin- 
 gering, as usual, for the priceless flavour. " Two 
 hundred miles ! " he gasped, as he looked at the child 
 
The Coming of the Boy 35 
 
 with moist eyes over which his red lids half closed. 
 " Ah, you're a Lightfoot," he said slowly. " I 
 should know you were a Lightfoot if I passed you in 
 the road." He carved a slice of ham and held it 
 out on the end of the knife. " It's long since you've 
 tasted a ham like this — browned in bread crumbs," 
 he added temptingly, but the boy gravely shook his 
 head. 
 
 " I've had quite enough, thank you, sir," he an- 
 swered with a quaint dignity, not unlike his grand- 
 father's and as the Major rose, he stood up also, 
 lifting his black head to look in the old man's face 
 with his keen gray eyes. 
 
 The Major took up the bundle and moved toward 
 the door. " You must see your grandmother," he 
 said as they went out, and he led the way up the 
 crooked stair past the old clock in the bend. On the 
 first landing he opened a door and stopped upon 
 the threshold. " Molly, here is poor Jane's boy," he 
 said. 
 
 In the centre of a big four-post bed, curtained in 
 white dimity, a little old lady was lying between 
 lavender-scented sheets. On her breast stood a tall 
 silver candlestick which supported a well-worn vol- 
 ume of " The Mysteries of Udolpho," held open by a 
 pair of silver snuffers. The old lady's face was 
 sharp and wizened, and beneath her starched white 
 nightcap rose the knots of her red flannel curlers. 
 Her eyes, which were very small and black, held a 
 flickering brightness like that in live embers. 
 
 " Whose boy, Mr. Lightfoot ? " she asked sharply. 
 
 Holding the child by the hand, the Major went 
 into the room, 
 
36 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " It's poor Jane's boy, Molly," he repeated 
 huskily. 
 
 The old lady raised her head upon her high pil- 
 lows, and looked at him by the light of the candle on 
 her breast. " Are you Jane's boy ? " she questioned 
 in suspicion, and at the child's " Yes, ma'am," she 
 said, " Come nearer. There, stand between the cur- 
 tains. Yes, you are Jane's boy, I see." She gave 
 the decision flatly, as if his parentage were a matter 
 of her pleasure. " And what is your name ? " she 
 added, as she snuffed the candle. 
 
 The boy looked from her stiff white nightcap to 
 the " log-cabin " quilt on the bed, and then at her 
 steel hoops which were hanging from a chair back. 
 He had always thought of her as in her rich black 
 silk, with the tight gray curls about her ears, and at 
 this revelation of her inner mysteries, his fancy re- 
 ceived a checkmate. 
 
 But he met her eyes again and answered simply, 
 " Dandridge — they call me Dan — Dan Mont- 
 joy." 
 
 " And he has walked two hundred miles, Molly," 
 gasped the Major. 
 
 " Then he must be tired," was the old lady's re- 
 joinder, and she added with spirit : " Mr. Lightfoot, 
 will you show Dan to Jane's old room, and see that 
 he has a blanket on his bed. He should have been 
 asleep hours ago — good night, child, be sure and 
 say your prayers," and as they crossed the threshold, 
 she laid aside her book and blew out her light. 
 
 The Major led the way to " Jane's old room " at 
 the end of the hall, and fetched a candle from some- 
 where outside. " I think you'll find everything you 
 
The Coming of the Boy 37 
 
 need," he said, stooping to feel the covering on the 
 bed. " Your grandmother always keeps the rooms 
 ready. God bless you, my son," and he went out, 
 softly closing the door after him. 
 
 The boy sat down on the steps of the tester bed, 
 and looked anxiously round the three-cornered 
 room, with its sloping windows filled with small, 
 square panes of glass. By the candlelight, flicker- 
 ing on the plain, white walls and simple furniture, 
 he tried to conjure back the figure of his mother, — 
 handsome Jane Lightfoot. Over the mantel hung 
 two crude drawings from her hand, and on the 
 table at the bedside there were several books with 
 her name written in pale ink on the fly leaves. 
 The mirror to the high old bureau seemed still to 
 hold the outlines of her figure, very shadowy against 
 the greenish glass. He saw her in her full white 
 skirts — she had worn nine petticoats, he knew, on 
 grand occasions — fastening her coral necklace 
 about her stately throat, the bands of her black 
 hair drawn like a veil above her merry eyes. Had 
 she lingered on that last Christmas Eve, be won- 
 dered, when her candlestick held its sprig of mistle- 
 toe and her room was dressed in holly? Did she 
 look back at the cheerful walls and the stately fur- 
 niture before she blew out her light and went down- 
 stairs to ride madly off, wrapped in his father's 
 coat? And the old people drank their eggnog and 
 watched the Virginia reel, and, when they found 
 her gone, shut her out forever. 
 
 Now, as he sat on the bed-steps, it seemed to 
 him that he had come home for the first time in 
 his life. All this was his own by right, — the queer 
 
38 The Battle-Ground 
 
 old house, his mother's room, and beyond the slop- 
 ing windows, the meadows with their annual yield 
 of grain. He felt the pride of it swelling within 
 him ; he waited breathlessly for the daybreak when 
 he might go out and lord it over the fields and the 
 cattle and the servants that were his also. And at 
 last — his head big with his first day's vanity — he 
 climbed between the dimity curtains and fell asleep. 
 
 When he awaked next morning, the sun was 
 shining through the small square panes, and out- 
 side were the waving elm boughs and a clear sky. 
 He was aroused by a knock on his door, and, as 
 he jumped out of bed, Big Abel, the Major's driver 
 and confidential servant, came in with the warm* 
 water. He was a strong, finely-formed negro, black 
 as the ace of spades (so the Major put it), and of a 
 singularly open countenance. 
 
 " Hi ! ain't you up yit, young Marster ? " he ex- 
 claimed. " Sis Rhody, she sez she done save you de 
 bes' puffovers you ever tase, en ef'n you don' come 
 'long down, dey'll fall right flat." 
 
 " Who is Sis Rhody ? " inquired the boy, as he 
 splashed the water on his face. 
 
 "Who she? Why, she de cook." 
 
 " All right, tell her I'm coming," and he dressed 
 hurriedly and ran down into the hall where he 
 found Champe Lightfoot, the Major's great-nephew, 
 who lived at Chericoke. 
 
 " Hello ! " called Champe at once, plunging his 
 hands into his pockets and presenting an expression 
 of eager interest. " When did you get here ? " 
 
 " Last night," Dan replied, and they stood star- 
 ing at each other with two pairs of the Lightfoot 
 gray eyes. 
 
The Coming of the Boy 39 
 
 " How'd you come ? " 
 
 " I walked some and I came part the way on a 
 steamboat. Did you ever see a steamboat ? " 
 
 " Oh, shucks ! A steamboat ain't anything. I've 
 seen George Washington's sword. Do you like to 
 fish?" 
 
 " I never fished. I lived in a city." 
 
 Zeke came in with a can of worms, and Champe 
 gave them the greater share of his attention. " I 
 tell you what, you'd better learn," he said at last, 
 returning the can to Zeke and taking up his fishing- 
 rod. " There' re a lot of perch down yonder in the 
 river," and he strode out, followed by the small 
 negro. 
 
 Dan looked after him a moment, and then went 
 into the dining room, where his grandmother was 
 sitting at the head of her table, washing her pink 
 teaset in a basin of soapsuds. She wore her stiff, 
 black silk this morning with its dainty undersleeves 
 of muslin, and her gray curls fell beneath her cap 
 of delicate yellowed lace. " Come and kiss me, 
 child," she said as he entered. " Did you sleep 
 well?" 
 
 " I didn't wake once," answered the boy, kissing 
 her wrinkled cheek. 
 
 " The!n you must eat a good breakfast and go to 
 your grandfather in the library. Your grandfather 
 is a very learned man, Dan, he reads Latin every 
 morning in the library. — Cupid, has Rhody a 
 freshly broiled chicken for your young master ? " 
 
 She got up and rustled about the room, arrang- 
 ing the pink teaset behind the glass doors of the 
 corner press. Then she slipped her key basket over 
 
40 The Battle-Ground 
 
 her arm and fluttered in and out of the storeroom, 
 stopping at intervals to scold the stream of servants 
 that poured in at the dining-room door. " Ef'n you 
 don' min', Ole Miss, Paisley, she done got de colick 
 f om a hull pa'cel er green apples," and " Abram 
 he's des a-shakin' wid a chill en he say he cyarn go 
 ter de co'n field." 
 
 " Wait a minute and be quiet," the old lady re- 
 sponded briskly, for, as the boy soon learned, she 
 prided herself upon her healing powers, and suffered 
 no outsider to doctor her husband or her slaves. 
 " Hush, Silas, don't say a word until I tell you. 
 Cupid — you are the only one with any sense — 
 measure Paisley a dose of Jamaica ginger from 
 the bottle on the desk in the office, and send Abram 
 a drink of the bitters in the brown jug — why, Car'- 
 line, what do you mean by coming into the house 
 with a slit in your apron?" 
 
 " Fo' de Lawd, Ole Miss, hit's des done cotch on 
 de fence. All de ducks Aun' Meeley been fattenin' 
 up fur you done got loose en gone ter water." 
 
 " Well, you go, too, every one of you ! " and she 
 dismissed them with waves of her withered, little 
 hands. " Send them out, Cupid. No, Car'line, not 
 a word. Don't ' Ole Miss ' me, I tell you ! " and the 
 servants streamed out again as they had come. 
 
 When he had finished his breakfast the boy went 
 back into the hall where Big Abel was taking down 
 the Major's guns from the rack, and, as he caught 
 sight of the strapping figure and kindly black face, 
 he smiled for the first time since his home-coming. 
 With a lordly manner, he went over and held out 
 bis hand. 
 
The Coming of the Boy 41 
 
 " I like you, Big Abel," he said gravely, and he 
 followed him out into the yard. 
 
 For the next few weeks he did not let Big Abel 
 out of his sight. He rode with him to the pasture, 
 he sat with him on his doorstep of a fine evening, 
 and he drove beside him on the box when the old 
 coach went out. " Big Abel says a gentleman 
 doesn't go barefooted," he said to Champe when 
 he found him without his shoes in the meadow, " and 
 I'm a gentleman." 
 
 " I'd like to know what Big Abel knows about it," 
 promptly retorted Champe, and Dan grew white 
 with rage and proceeded to roll up his sleeves. " I'll 
 whip any man who says Big Abel doesn't know a 
 gentleman ! " he cried, making a lunge at his 
 cousin. In point of truth, it was Champe who did 
 the whipping in such free fights ; but bruises and a 
 bleeding nose had never scared the savage out of 
 Dan. He would spring up from his last tumble as 
 from his first, and let fly at his opponent until Big 
 Abel rushed, in tears, between them. 
 
 From the garrulous negro, the boy soon learned 
 the history of his family — learned, indeed, much 
 about his grandfather of which the Major himself 
 was quite unconscious. He heard of that kindly, 
 rollicking early life, half wild and wholly good- 
 humoured, in which the eldest male Lightfoot had 
 squandered his time and his fortune. Why, was not 
 the old coach itself but an existing proof of Big 
 Abel's stories ? " 'Twan' mo'n twenty years back 
 dat Ole Miss had de fines' car'ige in de county," he 
 began one evening on the doorstep, and the boy 
 drove away a brood of half-fledged chickens and 
 
43 The Battle-Ground 
 
 settled himself to listen. " Hadn't you better light 
 your pipe, Big Abel ? w he inquired courteously. 
 
 Big Abel shuffled into the cabin and came back 
 with his corncob pipe and a lighted taper. " We all 
 am' rid in de ole coach den," he said with a sigh, 
 as he sucked at the long stem, and threw the taper 
 at the chickens. " De ole coach hit uz th'owed away 
 in de out'ouse, en I 'uz des stiddyin' 'bout splittin' it 
 up fer kindlin' wood — en de new car'ige hit cos' 
 mos' a mint er money. Ole Miss she uz dat sot up 
 dat she ain' let de hosses git no sleep — nor me 
 nurr. Ef'n she spy out a speck er dus' on dem ar 
 wheels, somebody gwine year f'om it, sho's you 
 bo'n — en dat somebody wuz me. Yes, Lawd, Ole 
 Miss she 'low dat dey ain' never been nuttin' like 
 dat ar car'ige in Varginny sence befo' de flood." 
 
 " But where is it, Big Abel ? " 
 
 " You des wait, young Marster, you des wait twel 
 I git dar. I'se gv: ; ne git dar w'en I come ter de day 
 me an Ole Marster rid in ter git his gol' f'om Mars 
 Tom Braxton. De car'ige hit sutney did look spick 
 en span dat day, en I done shine up my hosses twel 
 you could 'mos' see yo' face in dey sides. Well, we 
 rid inter town en we got de gol' f'om Marse Brax- 
 ton, — all tied up in a bag wid a string roun' de neck 
 er it, — en we start out agin (en Ole Miss she settin' 
 up at home en plannin' w'at she gwine buy), w'en 
 we come ter de tave'n whar we all use ter git our 
 supper, en meet Marse Plaintain Dudley right face 
 to face. Lawd! Lawd! I'se done knowed Marse 
 Plaintain Dudley afo' den, so I des tech up my hosses 
 en wuz a-sailin' 'long by, w'en he shake his han' en 
 holler out, ' Is yer wife done tied you ter 'er ap'on, 
 
The Coming of the Boy 43 
 
 Maje?' (He knowed Ole Miss don' w'ar no ap'on 
 des es well es I knowed hit — dat's Marse Plain- 
 tain all over agin) ; but w'en he holler out dat, Ole 
 Marster sez, ' Stop, Abel/ en I 'bleeged ter stop, 
 you know, I wuz w'en Ole Marster tell me ter. 
 
 " ' I ain' tied, Plaintain, I'm tired,' sez Ole Mars- 
 ter, ' I'm tired losin' money.' Den Marse Plaintain 
 he laugh like a devil. ' Oh, come in, suh, come in 
 en win, den,' he sez, en Ole Marster step out en 
 walk right in wid Marse Plaintain behint 'im — en 
 I set dar all night, — yes, suh, I set dar all night 
 a-hol'n' de hosses' haids. 
 
 " Den w'en de sun up out come Ole Marster, 
 white es a sheet, with his han's a-trem'lin', en de bag 
 er gol' gone. I look at 'im fur a minute, en den I 
 let right out, ' Ole Marster, whar de gol ? ' en he 
 stan' still en ketch his breff befo' he say, ' Hit's all 
 gone, Abel, en de car'ige en de hosses dey's gone, 
 too. 1 ' En w'en I bust out cryin' en ax 'im, ' My 
 hosses gone, Ole Marster ? ' he kinder sob en beckon 
 me fer ter git down f'om my box, en den we put out 
 ter walk all de way home. 
 
 " W'en we git yer 'bout'n dinner time, dar wuz 
 Ok Miss at de do' wid de sun in her eyes, en soon 
 es she ketch sight er Ole Marster, she put up her 
 han' en holler out, ' Marse Lightfoot, whar de 
 car'ige ? ' But Ole Marster, he des hang down his 
 haid, same es a dawg dat's done been whupped fur 
 rabbit runnin', en he sob, ' Hit's gone, Molly en de 
 bag er gol' en de hosses, dey's gone, too, I done loss 
 'em all cep'n Abel — en I'm a bad man, Molly.' 
 Dat's w'at Ole Marster say, ' I'm a bad man, Molly,' 
 en I stiddy 'bout my hosses en Ole Miss' car'ige en 
 shet my mouf right tight." 
 
44 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " And Grandma ? Did she cry ? " asked the boy, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 "Who cry? Ole Miss? Huh! She des th'ow 
 Up her haid en low, ' Well, Marse Lightfoot, I'm 
 glad you kep' Abel — en we'll use de ole coach 
 ftgin',' sez she — en den she tu'n en strut right in 
 ter dinner." 
 
 " Was that all she ever said about it, Big Abel ? " 
 
 " Dat's all I ever hyern, honey, en I b'lieve hit's 
 all Ole Marster ever hyern eeder, case w'en I tuck 
 his gun out er de rack de nex' day, he was settin' 
 up des es prim in de parlour a-sippin' a julep wid 
 Marse Peyton Ambler, en I hyern 'im kinder whis- 
 per, ' Molly, she's en angel, Peyton — ' en he am' 
 never call Ole Miss en angel twel he loss 'er car'ige." 
 
IV 
 
 A HOUSE WITH AN OPEN DOOR 
 
 The master of Uplands was standing upon his 
 portico behind the Doric columns, looking compla- 
 cently over the fat lands upon which his fathers 
 had sown and harvested for generations. Beyond 
 the lane of lilacs and the two silver poplars at the 
 gate, his eyes wandered leisurely across the blue 
 green strip of grass-land to the tawny wheat field, 
 where the slaves were singing as they swung their 
 cradles. The day was fine, and the outlying mead- 
 ows seemed to reflect his gaze with a smile as be- 
 neficent as his own. He had cast his bread upon the 
 soil, and it had returned to him threefold. 
 
 As he stood there, a small, yet imposing figure, 
 in his white duck suit, holding his broad slouch 
 hat in his hand, he presented something of the 
 genial aspect of the country — as if the light that 
 touched the pleasant hills and valleys was aglow in 
 his clear brown eyes and comely features. Even 
 the smooth white hand in which he held his hat and 
 riding-whip had about it a certain plump kindliness 
 which would best become a careless gesture of con- 
 cession. And, after all, he looked but what he was 
 — a bland and generous gentleman, whose heart 
 was as open as his wine cellar. 
 
 45 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 3 
 
46 The Battle-Ground 
 
 A catbird was singing in one of the silver pop* 
 lars, and he waited, with upraised head, for th« 
 song to end. Then he stooped beside a column and 
 carefully examined a newly planted coral honey- 
 suckle before he went into the wide hall, where 
 his wife was seated at her work-table. 
 
 From the rear door, which stood open until frost, 
 a glow of sunshine entered, brightening the white 
 walls with their rows of antlers and gunracks, and 
 rippling over the well-waxed floor upon which no 
 drop of water had ever fallen. A faint sweetness 
 was in the air from the honeysuckle arbour out- 
 side, which led into the box-bordered walks of the 
 garden. 
 
 As the Governor hung up his hat, he began at 
 once with his daily news of the farm. " I hope 
 they'll get that wheat field done to-day," he said; 
 " but it doesn't look much like it — they've been 
 dawdling over it for the last three days. I am 
 afraid Wilson isn't much of a manager, after all; 
 if I take my eyes off him, he seems to lose his 
 head." 
 
 " I think everything is that way," returned his 
 wife, looking up from one of the elaborately tucked 
 and hemstitched shirt fronts which served to gratify 
 the Governor's single vanity. " I'm sure Aunt 
 Pussy says she can't trust Judy for three days in 
 the dairy without finding that the cream has stood 
 too long for butter — and Judy has been churning 
 for twenty years." She cut off her thread and held 
 the linen out for the Governor's inspection. " I 
 really believe that is the prettiest one I've made. 
 How do you like this new stitch ? " 
 
A House with an Open Door 47 
 
 " Exquisite ! " exclaimed her husband, as he took 
 the shirt front in his hand. " Simply exquisite, my 
 love. There isn't a woman in Virginia who can do 
 such needlework ; but it should go upon a younger 
 and handsomer man, Julia." 
 
 His wife blushed and looked up at him, the colour 
 rising to her beautiful brow and giving a 
 youthful radiance to her nunlike face. " It could 
 certainly go upon a younger man, Mr. Ambler," she 
 rejoined, with a touch of the coquetry for which she 
 had once been noted ; " but I should like to know 
 where I'd find a handsomer one." 
 
 A pleased smile broadened the Governor's face, 
 and he settled his waistcoat with an approving pat. 
 " Ah, you're a partial witness, my dear," he said ; 
 " but I've an error to confess, so I mustn't forego 
 your favour — I — I bought several of Mr. Willis's 
 servants, my love." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Ambler ! " remonstrated his wife, re- 
 proach softening her voice until it fell like a caress. 
 " Why, Mr. Ambler, you bought six of Colonel 
 Blake's last year, you know and one of the house 
 servants has been nursing them ever since. The 
 quarters are filled with infirm darkies." 
 
 " But I couldn't help it, Julia, I really couldn't," 
 pleaded the Governor. " You'd have done it your- 
 self, my dear. They were sold to a dealer going 
 south, and one of them wants to marry that Mandy 
 of yours." 
 
 " Oh, if it's Mandy's lover," broke in Mrs. Am- 
 bler, with rising interest, " of course you had to 
 buy him, and you did right about the others — you 
 always do right." She put out her delicate blue- 
 
48 The Battle-Ground 
 
 veined hand and touched his arm. " I shall see 
 them to-day," she added, " and Mandy may as well 
 be making her wedding dress." 
 
 " What an eye to things you have," said the Gov- 
 ernor, proudly. " You might have been President, 
 had you been a man, my dear." 
 
 His wife rose and took up her work-box with a 
 laugh of protest. " I am quite content with the 
 mission of my sex, sir," she returned, half in jest, 
 half in wifely humility. " I'm sure I'd much rather 
 make shirt fronts for you than wear them myself." 
 Then she nodded to him and went, with her stately 
 step, up the broad staircase, her white hand flitting 
 over the mahogany balustrade. 
 
 As he looked after her, the Governor's face 
 clouded, and he sighed beneath his breath. The 
 cares she met with such serenity had been too heavy 
 for her strength ; they had driven the bloom from 
 her cheeks and the lustre from her eyes ; and, 
 though she had not faltered at her task, she had 
 drooped daily and grown older than her years. The 
 master might live with a lavish disregard of the 
 morrow, not the master's wife. For him were 
 the open house, the shining table, the well-stocked 
 wine cellar and the morning rides over the dewy 
 fields ; for her the cares of her home and children, 
 and of the souls and bodies of the black people that 
 had been given into her hands. In her gentle heart 
 it seemed to her that she had a charge to keep be- 
 fore her God ; and she went her way humbly, her 
 thoughts filled with things so vital as the uses of 
 her medicine chest and the unexpounded mysteries 
 of salvation. 
 
A House with an Open Door 49 
 
 Now, as she reached the upper landing, she met 
 Betty running to look for her. 
 
 " O, mamma, may I go to fish with Champe 
 and the new boy and Big Abel? And Virginia 
 wants to go, too, she says." 
 
 " Wait a moment, child," said Mrs. Ambler. 
 " You have torn the trimming on your frock. 
 Stand still and I'll mend it for you," and she got 
 out her needle and sewed up the rent, while Betty 
 hopped impatiently from foot to foot. 
 
 " I think the new boy's a heap nicer than Champe, 
 mamma," she remarked as she waited. 
 
 "Do you, dear?" 
 
 " An' he says I'm nicer than Champe, too. He 
 fought Champe 'cause he said I didn't have as 
 much sense as he had — an' I have, haven't I, 
 mamma? " 
 
 " Women do not need as much sense as men, my 
 dear," replied Mrs. Ambler, taking a dainty stitch. 
 
 " Well, anyway, Dan fought Champe about it," 
 said Betty, with pride. " He'll fight about 'most 
 anything, he says, if he jest gets roused — an' that 
 cert'n'y did rouse him. His nose bled a long time, 
 too, and Champe whipped him, you know. But, 
 when it was over, I asked him if I had as much 
 sense as he had, and he said, ' Psha ! you're just a 
 girl.' Wasn't that funny, mamma ? " 
 
 " There, there, Betty," was Mrs. Ambler's re- 
 joinder. " I'm afraid he's a wicked boy, and you 
 mustn't get such foolish thoughts into your head. 
 If the Lord had wanted you to be clever, He would 
 have made you a man. Now, run away, and don't 
 get your feet wet; and if you see Aunt Lydia in 
 
$o The Battle-Ground 
 
 the garden, you may tell her that the bonnet has 
 come for her to look at." 
 
 Betty bounded away and gave the message to 
 Aunt Lydia over the whitewashed fence of the 
 garden. " They've sent a bonnet from New York 
 for you to look at, Aunt Lydia," she cried. " It 
 came all wrapped up in tissue paper, with mamma's 
 gray silk, and it's got flowers on it — a lot of 
 them ! " with which parting shot, she turned her 
 back upon the startled old lady and dashed off to 
 join the boys and Big Abel, who, with their fish- 
 ing-poles, had gathered in the cattle pasture. 
 
 Miss Lydia, who was lovingly bending over a 
 bed of thyme, raised her eyes and looked after the 
 child, all in a gentle wonder. Then she went slowly 
 up and down the box-bordered walks, the full skirt 
 of her " old lady's gown " trailing stiffly over the 
 white gravel, her delicate face rising against the 
 blossomless shrubs of snowball and bridal-wreath, 
 like a faintly tinted flower that had been blighted 
 before it fully bloomed. Around her the garden 
 was fragrant as a rose- jar with the lid left off, and 
 the very paths beneath were red and white with 
 fallen petals. Hardy cabbage roses, single pink and 
 white dailies, yellow-centred damask, and the last 
 splendours of the giant of battle, all dipped their 
 colours to her as she passed, while the little rustic 
 summer-house where the walks branched off was but 
 a flowering bank of maiden's blush and micro- 
 phylla. 
 
 Amid them all, Miss Lydia wandered in her full 
 black gown, putting aside her filmy ruffles as she 
 tied back a hanging spray or pruned a broken stalk, 
 
A House with an Open Door 5r 
 
 sometimes even lowering her thread lace cap as she 
 weeded the tangle of sweet Williams and touch- 
 me-not. Since her gentle girlhood she had tended 
 bountiful gardens, and dreamed her virgin dreams 
 in the purity of their box-trimmed walks. In a kind 
 of worldly piety she had bound her prayer book 
 in satin and offered to her Maker the incense of 
 flowers. She regarded heaven with something of 
 the respectful fervour with which she regarded the 
 world — that great world she had never seen; for 
 " the proper place for a spinster is her father's 
 house," she would say with her conventional prim- 
 ness, and send, despite herself, a mild imagina- 
 tion in pursuit of the follies from which she so 
 earnestly prayed to be delivered — she, to whom 
 New York was as the terror of a modern Babylon, 
 and a Jezebel but a woman with paint upon her 
 cheeks. " They tell me that other women have 
 painted since," she had once said, with a wistful 
 curiosity. " Your grandmamma, my dear Julia, had 
 even seen one with an artificial colour. She would 
 not have mentioned it to me, of course, — an unmar- 
 ried lady, — but I was in the next room when she 
 spoke of it to old Mrs. Fitzhugh. She was a woman 
 of the world, was your grandmamma, my dear, and 
 the most finished dancer of her day." The last was 
 said with a timid pride, though to Miss Lydia her- 
 self the dance was the devil's own device, and the 
 teaching of the catechism to small black slaves the 
 chief end of existence. But the blood of the " most 
 finished dancer of her day " still circulated beneath 
 the old lady's gown and the religious fife, and in 
 her attenuated romances she forever held the sinnef 
 
52 The Battle-Ground 
 
 above the saint, unless, indeed, the sinner chanced 
 to be of her own sex, when, probably, the book 
 would never have reached her hands. For the 
 purely masculine improprieties, her charity was as 
 boundless as her innocence. She had even dipped 
 into Shakespeare and brought away the memory of 
 Mercutio ; she had read Scott, and enshrined in her 
 pious heart the bold Rob Roy. " Men are very 
 wicked, I fear," she would gently offer, " but they 
 are very a — a — engaging, too." 
 
 To-day, when Betty came with the message, she 
 / lingered a moment to convince herself that the bon- 
 net was not in her thoughts, and then swept her 
 trailing bombazine int^ the house. " I have come 
 to tell you that you may as well send the bonnet 
 back, Julia," she began at once. " Flowers are 
 much too fine for me, my dear. I need only a plain 
 black poke." 
 
 " Come up and try it on," was Mrs. Ambler's 
 cheerful response. " You have no idea how lovely 
 it will look on you." 
 
 Miss Lydia went up and took the bonnet out of 
 its wrapping of tissue paper. " No, you must send 
 it back, my love," she said in a resigned voice. " It 
 does not become me to dress as a married woman. 
 It may as well go back, Julia." 
 
 " But do look in the glass, Aunt Lydia — there, 
 let me put it straight for you. Why, it suits you 
 perfectly. It makes you look at least ten years 
 younger." 
 
 " A plain black poke, my dear," insisted Aunt 
 Lydia, as she carefully swathed the flowers in the 
 tissue paper. " And, besides, I have my old one, 
 
A House with an Open Door 53 
 
 which is quite good enough for me, my love. It 
 was very sweet of you to think of it, but it may 
 as well go back." She pensively gazed at the 
 mirror for a moment, and then went to her cham- 
 ber and took out her Bible to read Saint Paul on 
 Woman. 
 
 When she came down a few hours later, her 
 face wore an angelic meekness. " I have been 
 thinking of that poor Mrs. Brown who was here last 
 week," she said softly, " and I remember her tell- 
 ing me that she had no bonnet to wear to church. 
 What a loss it must be to her not to attend divine 
 service." 
 
 Mrs. Ambler quickly looked up from her needle- 
 work. " Why, Aunt Lydia, it would be really a 
 charity to give her your old one ! " she exclaimed. 
 " It does seem a shame that she should be kept 
 away from church because of a bonnet. And, then, 
 you might as well keep the new one, you know, 
 since it is in the house ; I hate the trouble of send- 
 ing it back." 
 
 " It would be a charity," murmured Miss 
 Lydia, and the bonnet was brought down and tried 
 on again. They were still looking at it when Betty 
 rushed in and threw herself upon her mother. " O, 
 mamma, I can't help it ! " she cried in tears, " an* 
 I wish I hadn't done it! Oh, I wish I hadn't; 
 but I set fire to the Major's woodpile, and he's 
 whippin' Dan ! " 
 
 " Betty ! " exclaimed Mrs. Ambler. She took the 
 child by her shoulders and drew her toward her. 
 " Betty, did you set fire to the Major's woodpile?" 
 she questioned sternly. 
 
54 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Betty was sobbing aloud, but she stopped long 
 enough to gasp out an answer. 
 
 " We were playin' Injuns, mamma, an' we 
 couldn't make believe 'twas real," she said, " an' it 
 isn't any fun unless you can make believe, so I 
 lit the woodpile and pretended it was a fort, an' 
 Big Abel, he was an Injun with the axe for a toma- 
 hawk; but the woodpile blazed right up, an' the 
 Major came runnin' out. He asked Dan who did it, 
 an' Dan wouldn't say 'twas me, — an' I wouldn't say, 
 either, — so he took Dan in to whip him. Oh, I wish 
 I'd told! I wish I'd told!" 
 
 " Hush, Betty," said Mrs. Ambler, and she called 
 to the Governor in the hall, " Mr. Ambler, Betty 
 has set fire to the Major's woodpile ! " Her voice 
 was hopeless, and she looked up blankly at her 
 husband as he entered. 
 
 " Set fire to the woodpile ! " whistled the Gover- 
 nor. " Why, bless my soul, we aren't safe in our 
 beds!" 
 
 " He whipped Dan," wailed Betty. 
 
 " We aren't safe in our beds," repeated the Gov- 
 ernor, indignantly. " Julia, this is really too 
 much." 
 
 " Well, you will have to ride right over there," 
 said his wife, decisively. " Petunia, run down and 
 tell Hosea to saddle his master's horse. Betty, I 
 hope this will be a lesson to you. You shan't have 
 any preserves for supper for a week." 
 
 " I don't want any preserves," sobbed Betty, her 
 apron to her eyes. 
 
 " Then you mustn't go fishing for two weeks. 
 Mr. Ambler, you'd better be starting at once, and 
 
A House with an Open Door 55 
 
 don't forget to tell the Major that Betty is in great 
 distress — you are, aren't you, Betty ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," wept Betty. 
 
 The Governor went out into the hall and took 
 down his hat and riding-whip. 
 
 " The sins of the children are visited upon the 
 fathers," he remarked gloomily as he mounted his 
 horse and rode away from his supper. 
 
THE SCHOOL FOR GENTLEMEN 
 
 The Governor rode up too late to avert the pun- 
 ishment. Dan had taken his whipping and was sit- 
 ting on a footstool in the library, facing the Major 
 and a couple of the Major's cronies. His face 
 wore an expression in which there was more resent- 
 ment than resignation; for, though he took blows 
 doggedly, he bore the memory of them long after 
 the smart had ceased — long, indeed, after light- 
 handed justice, in the Major's person, had forgotten 
 alike the sin and the expiation. For the Major's 
 hand was not steady at the rod, and he had often 
 regretted a weakness of heart which interfered with 
 a physical interpretation of the wisdom of Solomon. 
 "If you get yOur deserts, you'd get fifty lashes," 
 was his habitual reproof to his servants, though, as 
 a matter of fact, he had never been known to order 
 one. His anger was sometimes of the kind that ap- 
 palls, but it usually vented itself in a heightened 
 redness of face or a single thundering oath; and 
 a woman's sob would melt his stoniest mood. It 
 was only because his daughter had kept out of 
 his sight that he had never forgiven her, people 
 said; but there was, perhaps, something character- 
 istic in the proof that he was most relentless where 
 he had most loved. 
 
 56 
 
The School for Gentlemen 57 
 
 As for Dan's chastisement, he had struck him 
 twice across the shoulders, and when the boy had 
 turned to him with the bitter smile which was Jane 
 Lightfoot's own, the Major had choked in his wrath, 
 and, a moment later, flung the whip aside. " I'll 
 be damned, — I beg your pardon, sir, — I'll be 
 ashamed of myself if I give you another lick," he 
 said. " You are a gentleman, and I shall trust you." 
 
 He held out his hand, but he had not counted on 
 the Mont joy blood. The boy looked at him and 
 stubbornly shook his head. " I can't shake hands 
 yet because I am hating you just now," he an-^ 
 swered. "Will you wait awhile, sir?" and thg 
 Major choked again, half in awe, half in amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 " You don't bear malice, I reckon ? " he ventured 
 cautiously. 
 
 " I am not sure," replied the boy, " I rather think 
 I do." 
 
 Then he put on his coat, and they went out to 
 meet Mr. Blake and Dr. Crump, two hale and jolly 
 gentlemen who rode over every Thursday to spend 
 the night. 
 
 As the visitors came panting up the steps, the 
 Major stood in the doorway with outstretched hands. 
 
 " You are late, gentlemen, you are late," was his 
 weekly greeting, to which they as regularly re- 
 sponded, " We could never come too early for our 
 pleasure, my dear Major; but there are professional 
 duties, you know, professional duties." 
 
 After this interchange of courtesies, they would 
 enter the house and settle themselves, winter or 
 summer, in their favourite chairs u#on the hearth- 
 
58 The Battle-Ground 
 
 rug, when it was the custom of Mrs. Lightfoot to 
 send in a fluttering maid to ask if Mrs* Blake had 
 done her the honour to accompany her husband. As 
 Mrs. Blake was never known to leave her children 
 and her pet poultry, this was merely a conventional- 
 ism by which the elder lady meant to imply a stand- 
 ing welcome for the younger. 
 
 On this evening, Mr. Blake — the rector of the 
 largest church in Leicesterburg — straightened his 
 fat legs and folded his hands as he did at the ending 
 of his sermons, and the others sat before him with 
 the strained and reverential faces which they put 
 on like a veil in church and took off when the ser- 
 vice was over. That it was not a prayer, but a 
 pleasantry of which he was about to deliver him- 
 self, they quite understood ; but he had a habit of 
 speaking 'on week days in his Sunday tones, which 
 gave, as it were, an official weight to his remarks. 
 He was a fleshy wide-girthed gentleman, with a 
 bald head, and a face as radiant as the full moon. 
 
 " I was just asking the doctor when I was to have 
 the honour of making the little widow Mrs. 
 Crump ? " he threw out at last, with a laugh that 
 shook him from head to foot. " It is not good for 
 man to live alone, eh, Major? " 
 
 " That sentence is sufficient to prove the divine 
 inspiration of the Scriptures," returned the Major, 
 warmly, while the doctor blushed and stammered, 
 as he always did, at the rector's mild matrimoniaV 
 jokes. It was twenty years since Mr. Blake began 
 teasing Dr. Crump about his bachelorship, and to 
 them both the subject was as fresh as in its be- 
 ginning. 
 
The School for Gentlemen 59 
 
 "I — I declare I haven't seen the lady for a 
 week," protested the doctor, " and then she sent for 
 me." 
 
 "Sent for you?" roared Mr. Blake. "Ah, 
 doctor, doctor ! " 
 
 " She sent for me because she had heart trouble," 
 returned the doctor, indignantly. The lady's name 
 was never mentioned between them. 
 
 The rector laughed until the tears started. 
 
 " Ah, you're a success with the ladies," he ex- 
 claimed, as he drew out a neatly ironed handker- 
 chief and shook it free from its folds, " and no won- 
 der — no wonder! We'll be having an epidemic 
 of heart trouble next." Then, as he saw the doctor 
 wince beneath his jest, his kindly heart reproached 
 him, and he gravely turned to politics and the dig- 
 nity of nations. 
 
 The two friends were faithful Democrats, 
 though the rector always began his very forcible re- 
 marks with : " A minister knows nothing of politics, 
 and I am but a minister of the Gospel. If you care, 
 however, for the opinion of an outsider — " 
 
 As for the Major, he had other leanings which 
 were a source of unending interest to them all. " I 
 am a Whig, not from principle, but from prejudice, 
 sir," he declared. " The Whig is the gentle- 
 man's party. I never saw a Whig that didn't wear 
 broadcloth." 
 
 " And some Democrats," politely protested the 
 doctor, with a glance at his coat. 
 
 The Major bowed. 
 
 " And many Democrats, sir ; but the Whig party, 
 if I may say so, is the broadcloth party — the cloth 
 
60 The Battle-Ground 
 
 stamps it ; and besides this, sir, I think its ' parts 
 are solid and will wear well.' " 
 
 Now when the Major began to quote Mr. Addi- 
 son, even the rector was silent, save for an occa- 
 sional prompting-, as, " I was reading the Spectator 
 until eleven last night, sir," or " I have been trying 
 to recall the lines in The Campaign before ' 'Twas 
 then great Marlborough's mighty soul was proved." 
 
 This was the best of the day to Dan, and, as he 
 turned on his footstool, he did not even glare at 
 Champe, who, from the window seat, was regard- 
 ing him with the triumphant eye with which the 
 young behold the downfall of a brother. For a mo- 
 ment he had forgotten the whipping, but Champe 
 had not ; he was thinking of it in the window seat. 
 
 But the Major was standing on the hearth-rug, 
 and the boy's gaze went to him. Tossing back his 
 long white hair, and fixing his eagle glance on his 
 friends, the old gentleman, with a free sweep of 
 his arm, thundered his favourite lines : — 
 
 " So, when an angel by divine command 
 With rising tempests shakes a guilty land 
 (Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed), 
 Calm and serene he drives the furious blast; 
 And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, 
 Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm." 
 
 He had got so far when the door opened and the 
 Governor entered — a little hurriedly, for he was 
 thinking of his supper. 
 
 " I am the bearer of an apology, my dear Major," 
 he said, when he had heartily shaken hands all round. 
 " It seems that Betty — I assure you she is in great 
 distress — set fire to your woodpile this afternoon, 
 
The School for Gentlemen 61 
 
 and that your grandson was punished for her mis- 
 chief. My dear boy," he laid his hand on Dan's 
 shoulder and looked into his face with the win- 
 ning smile which had made him the most popular 
 man in his State, " my dear boy, you are young to 
 be such a gentleman." 
 
 A hot flush overspread Dan's face; he forgot 
 the smart and the wounded pride — he forgot even 
 Champe staring from the window seat. The Gov- 
 ernor's voice was like salve to his hurt; the up- 
 right little man with the warm brown eyes seemed 
 to lift him at once to the plane of his own chivalry. 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't tell on a girl, sir," he answered, 
 and then his smothered injury burst forth ; " but 
 she ought to be ashamed of herself," he added 
 bluntly. 
 
 " She is," said the Governor with a smile ; then 
 he turned to the others. " Major, the boy is a 
 Lightfoot ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Ah, so I said, so I said ! " cried the Major, 
 clapping his hand on Dan's head in a racial bene- 
 diction. " ' I'd know you were a Lightfoot if I 
 met you in the road ' was what I said the first 
 evening." 
 
 " And a Virginian," added Mr. Blake, folding 
 his hands on his stomach and smiling upon the 
 group. " My daughter in New York wrote to me 
 last week for advice about the education of her 
 son. ' Shall I send him to the school of learning 
 at Cambridge, papa ? ' she asked ; and I answered, 
 ' Send him there, if you will, but, when he has fin- 
 ished with his books, by all means let him come to 
 Virginia — the school for gentlemen.' " 
 
62 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " The school for gentlemen ! " cried the doctor, 
 delightedly. " It is a prouder title than the ' Mother 
 of Presidents.' " 
 
 " And as honourably earned," added the rector. 
 " If you want polish, come to Virginia ; if you 
 want chivalry, come to Virginia. When I see these 
 two things combined, I say to myself, ' The blood 
 of the Mother of Presidents is here.' " 
 
 " You are right, sir, you are right ! " cried the 
 Major, shaking back his hair, as he did when he 
 was about to begin the lines from The Campaign. 
 " Nothing gives so fine a finish to a man as a few 
 years spent with the influences that moulded Wash- 
 ington. Why, some foreigners are perfected by 
 them, sir. When I met General Lafayette in Rich- 
 mond upon his second visit, I remember being 
 agreeably impressed with his dignity and ease, 
 which, I have no doubt, sir, he acquired by his asso- 
 ciation, in early years, with the Virginia gentlemen." 
 
 The Governor looked at them with a twinkle in 
 his eye. He was aware of the humorous traits of 
 his friends, but, in the peculiar sweetness of his 
 temper, he loved them not the less because he 
 laughed at them — perhaps the more. In the rec- 
 tor's fat body and the Major's lean one, he knew 
 that there beat hearts as chivalrous as their words. 
 He had seen the Major doff his hat to a beggar in 
 the road, and the rector ride forty miles in a snow- 
 storm to read a prayer at the burial of a slave. So 
 he said with a pleasant laugh, " We are surely the 
 best judges, my dear sirs," and then, as Mrs. Light- 
 foot rustled in, they rose and fell back until she had 
 taken her seat, and found her knitting. 
 
The School for Gentlemen 6j 
 
 " I am so sorry not to see Mrs. Blake," she said 
 to the rector. " I have a new recipe for yellow 
 pickle which I must write out and send to her." 
 And, as the Governor rose to go, she stood up and 
 begged him to stay to supper. " Mr. Lightfoot, 
 can't you persuade him to sit down with us ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Where you have failed, Molly, it is useless for 
 me to try," gallantly responded the Major, picking 
 up her ball of yarn. 
 
 " But I must bear your pardon to my little girl, 
 I really must," insisted the Governor. " By the 
 way, Major," he added, turning at the door, " what 
 do you think of the scheme to let the Government 
 buy the slaves and ship them back to Africa? I 
 was talking to a Congressman about it last week." 
 
 " Sell the servants to the Government ! " cried the 
 Major, hotly. " Nonsense ! nonsense ! Why, you 
 are striking at the very foundation of our society! 
 Without slavery, where is our aristocracy, sir?" 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon," said the Governor 
 lightly. " Well, we shall keep them a while longer, 
 I expect. Good night, madam, good night, gentle- 
 men," and he went out to where his horse was 
 standing. 
 
 The Major looked after him with a sigh. " When 
 I hear a man talking about the abolition of slavery," 
 he remarked gloomily, " I always expect him to want 
 to do away with marriage next — " he checked him- 
 self and coloured, as if an improper speech had 
 slipped out in the presence of Mrs. Lightfoot. The 
 old lady rose primly and, taking the rector's arm, led 
 the way to supper. 
 
64 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Dan was not noticed at the table, — it was a part 
 of his grandmother's social training to ignore 
 children before visitors, — but when he went upstairs 
 that night, the Major came to the boy's room and 
 took him in his arms. 
 
 " I am proud of you, my child," he said. " You 
 are my grandson, every inch of you, and you shall 
 have the finest riding horse in the stables on your 
 birthday." 
 
 " I'd rather have Big Abel, if you please, sir," 
 returned Dan. " I think Big Abel would like to 
 belong to me, grandpa." 
 
 " Bless my soul ! " cried the Major. " Why, you 
 shall have Big Abel and his whole family, if you 
 like. I'll give you every darky on the place, if 
 you want them — and the horses to boot," for the old 
 gentleman was as unwise in his generosity as in his 
 wrath. 
 
 " Big Abel will do, thank you," responded the 
 boy ; " and I'd like to shake hands now, grandpa," 
 he added gravely; but before the Major left that 
 night he had won not only the child's hand, but his 
 heart. It was the beginning of the great love be- 
 tween them. 
 
 For from that day Dan was as the light of his 
 grandfather's eyes. As the boy strode manfully 
 across the farm, his head thrown back, his hands 
 clasped behind him, the old man followed, in won- 
 dering pride, on his footsteps. To see him stand 
 amid the swinging cradles in the wheat field, order- 
 ing the slaves and arguing with the overseer, was 
 sufficient delight unto the Major's day. " Nonsense, 
 Molly," he would reply half angrily to his wife's re- 
 
The School for Gentlemen 6$ 
 
 monstrances. " The child can't be spoiled. I tell 
 you he's too fine a boy. I couldn't spoil him if 
 I tried," and once out of his grandmother's 
 sight, Dan's arrogance was laughed at, and his reck- 
 lessness was worshipped. " Ah, you will make a 
 man, you will make a man!" the Major had ex- 
 claimed when he found him swearing at the over- 
 seer, " but you mustn't curse, you really mustn't, you 
 know. Why, your grandmother won't let me do it." 
 
 " But I told him to leave that haystack for me 
 to slide on," complained the boy, " and he said he 
 wouldn't, and began to pull it down. I wish you'd 
 send him away, grandpa." 
 
 "Send Harris away!" whistled the Major. 
 " Why, where could I get another, Dan ? He has 
 been with me for twenty years." 
 
 " Hi, young Marster, who gwine min' de han's ? " 
 cried Big Abel, from behind. 
 
 " Do you like him, Big Abel ? " asked the child, 
 for the opinion of Big Abel was the only one for 
 which he ever showed respect. " It's because he's 
 not free, grandpa," he had once explained at the 
 Major's jealous questioning. " I wouldn't hurt his 
 feelings because he's not free, you know, and he 
 couldn't answer back," and the Major had said 
 nothing more. 
 
 Now " Do you like him, Big Abel ? " he inquired ; 
 and to the negro's " He's done use me moughty 
 well, suh," he said gravely, " Then he shall stay, 
 grandpa — and I'm sorry I cursed you, Harris," he 
 added before he left the field. He would always 
 own that he was wrong, if he could once be made to 
 see it, which rarely happened. 
 
66 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " The boy's kind heart will save him, or he is 
 lost," said the Governor, sadly, as Dan tore by on 
 his little pony, his black hair blown from his face, 
 his gray eyes shining. 
 
 " He has a kind heart, I know," returned Mrs. 
 Ambler, gently ; " the servants and the animals 
 adore him — but — but do you think it well for 
 Betty to be thrown so much with him ? He is very 
 wild, and they deny him nothing. I wish she went 
 with Champe instead — but what do you think ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I don't know," answered the 
 Governor, uneasily. " He told the doctor to mind 
 his own business, yesterday — and that is not unlike 
 Betty, herself, I am sorry to say — but this morn- 
 ing I saw him give his month's pocket money to that 
 poor free negro, Levi. I can't say, I really do 
 not know," his eyes followed Betty as she flew 
 out to climb behind Dan on the pony's back. " I 
 wish it were Champe, myself," he added doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 For Betty — independent 'Betty — had become 
 Dan's slave. Ever since the afternoon of the burn- 
 ing woodpile, she had bent her stubborn little knees 
 to him in hero-worship. She followed closer than a 
 shadow on his footsteps; no tortures could wring 
 his secrets from her lips. Once, when he hid him- 
 self in the mountains for a day and night and played 
 Indian, she kept silence, though she knew his hid- 
 ing-place, and a search party was out with lanterns 
 until dawn. 
 
 " I didn't tell," she said triumphantly, when fie 
 came down again. 
 
 " No, you didn't tell," he frankly acknowledged. 
 
The School for Gentlemen 67 
 
 " So I can keep a secret," she declared at last. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you can keep a secret — for a girl," 
 he returned, and added, " I tell you what, I like you 
 better than anybody about here, except grandpa and 
 Big Abel." 
 
 She shone upon him, her eyes narrowing; then 
 her face darkened. " Not better than Big Abel?" 
 she questioned plaintively. 
 
 " Why, I have to like Big Abel best," he replied, 
 " because he belongs to me, you know — you ought 
 to love the thing that belongs to you." 
 
 " But I might belong to you," suggested Betty. 
 She smiled again, and, smiling or grave, she always 
 looked as if she were standing in a patch of sun- 
 shine, her hair made such a brightness about her. 
 
 " Oh, you couldn't, you're white," said Dan ; 
 " and, besides, I reckon Big Abel and the pony are 
 as much as I can manage. It's a dreadful weight, 
 having people belong to you." 
 
 Then he loaded his gun, and Betty ran away with 
 her fingers in her ears, because she couldn't bear 
 to have things killed. 
 
 A month later Dan and Champe settled down to 
 study. The new tutor came — a serious young man 
 from the North, who wore spectacles, and read the 
 Bible to the slaves on the half-holidays. He was 
 kindly and conscientious, and, though the boys 
 found him unduly weighed down by responsibility 
 for the souls of his fellows, they soon loved him in 
 a light-hearted fashion. In a society where even 
 the rector harvested alike the true grain and the 
 tares, and left the Almighty to do His own win- 
 nowing, Mr. Bennett's free-handed fight with the 
 
68 The Battle-Ground 
 
 flesh and the devil was looked upon with smiling 
 tolerance, as if he were charging a windmill with 
 a wooden sword. 
 
 On Saturdays he would ride over to Uplands, 
 and discuss his schemes for the uplifting of the 
 negroes with the Governor and Mrs. Ambler; and 
 once he even went so far as to knock at Rainy-day 
 Jones's door and hand him a pamphlet entitled " The 
 Duties of the Slaveholder." Old Rainy-day, who 
 was the biggest bully in the county, set the dogs on 
 him, and lit his pipe with the pamphlet; but the 
 Major, when he heard the story, laughed, and called 
 the young man " a second David." 
 
 Mr. Bennett looked at him seriously through 
 his glasses, and then his eyes wandered to the small 
 slave, Mitty, whose chief end in life was the find- 
 ing of Mrs. Lightfoot's spectacles. He was an ear- 
 nest young man, but he could not keep his eyes 
 away from Mitty when she was in the room; and 
 at the old lady's, " Mitty, my girl, find me my 
 glasses," he felt like jumping from his seat and 
 calling upon her to halt. It seemed a survival of 
 the dark ages that one immortal soul should spend 
 her life hunting for the spectacles of another. To 
 Mr. Bennett, a soul was a soul in any colour; to 
 the Major the sons of Ham were under a curse 
 which the Lord would lighten in His own good time. 
 
 But before many months, the young man had 
 won the affection of the boys and the respect of 
 their grandfather, whose candid lack of logic was 
 overpowered by the reasons which Mr. Bennett 
 carried at every finger tip. He not only believed 
 things, he knew why he believed them ; and to the 
 
The School for Gentlemen 69 
 
 Major, with whom feelings were convictions, this 
 was more remarkable than the courage with which 
 he had handed his tract to old Rainy-day Jones. 
 
 As for Mr. Bennett, he found the Major a riddle 
 that he could not read ; . but the Governor's first 
 smile had melted his reserve, and he declared Mrs. 
 Ambler to be " a Madonna by Perugino." 
 
 Mrs. Ambler had never heard of Perugino, and 
 the word " Madonna " suggested to her vague 
 Romanist snares, but her heart went out to the 
 stranger when she found that he was in mourning 
 for his mother. She was not a clever woman in 
 a worldly sense, yet her sympathy, from the hourly 
 appeals to it, had grown as fine as intellect. She 
 was hopelessly ignorant of ancient history and the 
 Italian Renaissance; but she had a genius for the 
 affections, and where a greater mind would have 
 blundered over a wound, her soft hand went by 
 intuition to the spot. It was very pleasant to sit 
 in a rosewood chair in her parlour, to hear her 
 gray silk rustle as she crossed her feet, and to watch 
 her long white fingers interlace. 
 
 So she talked to the young man of his mother, 
 and he showed her the daguerrotype of the girl 
 he loved; and at last she confided to him her anx- 
 ieties for Betty's manners and the Governor's health, 
 and her timid wonder that the Bible " counte- 
 nanced " slavery. She was rare and elegant like a 
 piece of fine point lace; her hands had known no 
 harder work than the delicate hemstitching, and 
 her mind had never wandered over the nearer 
 hills. 
 
 As time went on, Betty was given over to the 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 4 
 
70 The Battle-Ground 
 
 care of her governess, and she was allowed to run 
 wild no more in the meadows. Virginia, a pretty 
 prim little girl, already carried her prayer book 
 in her hands when she drove to church, and wore 
 Swiss muslin frocks in the evenings; but Betty 
 when she was made to hem tablecloths on sunny 
 mornings, would weep until her needle rusted. 
 
 On cloudy days she would sometimes have her 
 ambitions to be ladylike, and once, when she had 
 gone to a party in town and seen Virginia dancing 
 while she sat against the wall, she had come home 
 to throw herself upon the floor. 
 
 " It's not that I care for boys, mamma," she 
 wailed, " for I despise them ; but they oughtn't to 
 have let me sit against the wall. And none of them 
 asked me to dance — not even Dan." 
 
 " Why, you are nothing but a child, Betty," said 
 Mrs. Ambler, in dismay. " What on earth does 
 it matter to you whether the boys notice you or 
 not?" 
 
 " It doesn't," sobbed Betty ; " but you wouldn't 
 like to sit against the wall, mamma." 
 
 " You can make them suffer for it six years hence, 
 daughter," suggested the Governor, revengefully. 
 
 " But suppose they don't have anything to do 
 with me then," cried Betty, and wept afresh. 
 
 In the end, it was Uncle Bill who brought her to 
 her feet, and, in doing so, he proved himself to be 
 the philosopher that he was. 
 
 " I tell you what, Betty," he exclaimed, " if you 
 get up and stop crying, I'll give you fifty cents. I 
 reckon fifty cents will make up for any boy, eh ? " 
 
 Betty lay still and looked up from the floor. 
 
The School for Gentlemen 71 
 
 "I — I reckon a dol-lar m-i-g-h-t," she gasped, 
 and caught a sob before it burst out. 
 
 " Well, you get up and I'll give you a dollar. 
 There ain't many boys worth a dollar, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 Betty got up and held out one hand as she wiped 
 her eyes with the other. 
 
 " I shall never speak to a boy again," she declared, 
 as she took the money. 
 
 That was when she was thirteen, and a year later 
 Dan went away to college. 
 
VI 
 
 COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 " My dear grandpa," wrote Dan during his first 
 weeks at college, " I think I am going to like it 
 pretty well here after I get used to the professors. 
 The professors are a great nuisance. They seem to 
 forget that a fellow of seventeen isn't a baby any 
 longer. 
 
 " The Arcades are very nice, and the maples on 
 the lawn remind me of those at Uplands, only they 
 aren't nearly so fine. My room is rather small, but 
 Big Abel keeps everything put away, so I manage to 
 get along. Champe sleeps next to me, and we are 
 always shouting through the wall for Big Abel. I 
 tell you, he has to step lively now. 
 
 " The night after we came, we went to supper at 
 Professor Ball's. There was a Miss Ball there who 
 had a pair of big eyes, but girls are so silly. Champe 
 talked to her all the evening and walked out to the 
 graveyard with her the next afternoon. I don't see 
 why he wants to spend so much of his time with 
 young ladies. It's because they think him good- 
 looking, I reckon. 
 
 " We are the only men who have horses here, so 
 I am glad you made me bring Prince Rupert, after 
 all. When I ride him into town, everybody turns to 
 look at him, and Batt Horsford, the stableman, says 
 
 78 
 
College Days 73 
 
 his trot is as clean as a razor. At first I wished I'd 
 brought my hunter instead, they made such a fuss 
 over Champe's, and I tell you he's a regular timber- 
 topper. 
 
 " A week ago I rode to the grave of Mr. Jefferson, 
 as I promised you, but I couldn't carry the wreath 
 for grandma because it would have looked silly — 
 Champe said so. However, I made Big Abel get 
 down and pull a few flowers on the way. 
 
 " You know, I had always thought that only gen- 
 tlemen came to the University, but whom do you 
 think I met the first evening ? — why, the son of 
 old Rainy-day Jones. What do you think of that? 
 He actually had the impudence to pass himself off 
 as one of the real Joneses, and he was going with all 
 the men. Of course, I refused to shake hands with 
 him — so did Champe — and, when he wanted to 
 fight me, I said I fought only gentlemen. I wish you 
 could have seen his face. He looked as old Rainy- 
 day did when he hit the free negro Levi, and I 
 knocked him down. 
 
 " By the way, I wish you would please send me my 
 half-year's pocket money in a lump, if you can con- 
 veniently do so. There is a man here who is work- 
 ing his way through Law, and his mother has just 
 lost all her money, so, unless some one helps him, 
 he'll have to go out and work before he takes his de- 
 gree. I've promised to lend him my half-year's 
 allowance — I said ' lend ' because it might hurt his 
 feelings ; but, of course, I don't want him to pay 
 it back. He's a great fellow, but I can't tell you 
 his name — I shouldn't like it in his place, you 
 know. 
 
74 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " The worst thing about college life is having to 
 go to classes. If it wasn't for that I should be all 
 right, and, anyway, I am solid on my Greek and 
 Latin — but I can't get on with the higher mathe- 
 matics. Mr. Bennett couldn't drive them into my 
 head as he did into Champe's. 
 
 " I hope grandma has entirely recovered from 
 her lumbago. Tell her Mrs. Ball says she was cured 
 by using red pepper plasters. 
 
 " Do you know, by the way, that I left my half- 
 dozen best waistcoats — the embroidered ones — in 
 the bottom drawer of my bureau, at least Big Abel 
 swears that's where he put them. I should be very 
 much obliged if grandma would have them fixed up 
 and sent to me — I can't do without them. A great 
 many gentlemen here are wearing coloured cravats, 
 and Charlie Morson's brother, who came up from 
 Richmond for a week, has a pair of side whiskers. 
 He says they are fashionable down there, but I 
 don't like them. 
 
 " With affectionate greeting to grandma and 
 yourself, 
 
 "Your dutiful grandson, 
 
 " Dandridge Montjoy." 
 
 " P.S. I am using my full name now — it will 
 look better if I am ever President. I wonder if Mr. 
 Jefferson was ever called plain Tom. 
 
 " Dan." 
 
 " N.B. Give my love to the little girls at Up- 
 lands. 
 
 " D." 
 
College Days 75 
 
 The Major read the letter aloud to his wife while 
 she sat knitting by the fireside, with Mitty holding 
 the ball of yarn on a footstool at her feet. 
 
 "What do you think of that, Molly?" he asked 
 when he had finished, his voice quivering with ex- 
 citement. 
 
 " Red pepper plasters ! " returned the old lady, 
 contemptuously. " As if I hadn't been making them 
 for Cupid for the last twenty years. Red pepper 
 plasters, indeed ! Why, they're no better than mus- 
 tard ones. I reckon I've made enough of them to 
 know." 
 
 " I don't mean that, Molly," explained the Major, 
 a little crestfallen. " I was speaking of the letter. 
 That's a fine letter, now, isn't it ? " 
 
 " It might be worse," admitted Mrs. Lightfoot, 
 coolly ; " but for my part, I don't care to have my 
 grandson upon terms of equality with any of that 
 rascal Jones's blood. Why, the man whips his ser- 
 vants." 
 
 " But he isn't upon any terms, my dear. He re- 
 fused to shake hands with him, didn't you hear that ? 
 Perhaps I'd better read the letter again." 
 
 " That is all very well, Mr. Lightfoot," said his 
 wife, clicking her needles, " but it can't prevent his 
 being in classes with him, all the same. And I am 
 sure, if I had known the University was so little 
 select, I should have insisted upon sending him to 
 Oxford, where his great-grandfather went before 
 him." 
 
 " Good gracious, Molly ! You don't wish the lad 
 was across the ocean, do you ? " 
 
 " It matters very little where he is so long as he 
 
j6 The Battle-Ground 
 
 is a gentleman," returned the old lady, so sharply 
 that Mitty began to unwind the worsted rapidly. 
 
 " Nonsense, Molly," protested the Major, irri- 
 tably, for he could not stand opposition upon his 
 own hearth-rug. " The boy couldn't be hurt by 
 sitting in the same class with the devil himself — 
 nor could Champe, for that matter. They are too 
 good Lightfoots." 
 
 " I am not uneasy about Champe," rejoined his 
 wife. " Champe has never been humoured as Dan 
 has been, I'm glad to say." 
 
 The Major started up as red as a beet. 
 
 " Do you mean that I humour him, madam ? " he 
 demanded in a terrible voice. 
 
 " Do pray, Mr. Lightfoot, you will frighten Mitty 
 to death," said his wife, reprovingly, " and it is really 
 very dangerous for you to excite yourself so — you 
 remember the doctor cautioned you against it." 
 And, by the time the Major was thoroughly de- 
 pressed, she skilfully brought out her point. " Of 
 course you spoil the child to death. You know it 
 as well as I do." 
 
 The Major, with the fear of apoplexy in his 
 mind, had no answer on his tongue, though a few 
 minutes later he showed his displeasure by ordering 
 his horse and riding to Uplands to talk things over 
 with the Governor. 
 
 " I am afraid Molly is breaking," he thought 
 gloomily, as he rode along. " She isn't what she 
 was when I married her fifty years ago." 
 
 But at Uplands his ill humour was dispelled. The 
 Governor read the letter and declared that Dan was 
 a fine lad, " and I'm glad you haven't spoiled him, 
 
College Days 77 
 
 Major," he said heartily. " Yes, they're both fine 
 lads and do you honour." 
 
 " So they do! so they do! " exclaimed the Major, 
 delightedly. " That's just what I said to Molly, 
 sir. And Dan sends his love to the little girls," he 
 added, smiling upon Betty and Virginia, who stood 
 by. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," responded Virginia, prettily, 
 looking at the old man with her dovelike eyes ; but 
 Betty tossed her head — she had an imperative little 
 toss which she used when she was angry. " I 
 am only three years younger than he is," she said, 
 " and I'm not a little girl any longer — Mammy has 
 had to let down all my dresses. I am fourteen years 
 old, sir." 
 
 " And quite a young lady," replied the Major, 
 with a bow. " There are not two handsomer girls 
 in the state, Governor, which means, of course, that 
 there are not two handsomer girls in the world, sir. 
 Why, Virginia's eyes are almost a match for my 
 Aunt Emmeline's, and poets have immortalized hers. 
 Do you recall the verses by the English officer she 
 visited in prison? — 
 
 " ' The stars in Rebel skies that shine 
 Are the bright orbs of Emmeline.' " 
 
 " Yes, I remember," said the Governor. " Emme- 
 line Lightfoot is as famous as Diana," then his 
 quick eyes caught Betty's drooping head, " and what 
 of this little lady ? " he asked, patting her shoulder. 
 " There's not a brighter smile in Virginia than 
 hers, eh, Major?" 
 
78 The Battle-Ground 
 
 But the Major was not to be outdone when there 
 were compliments to be exchanged. 
 
 " Her hair is like the sunshine," he began, and 
 checked himself, for at the first mention of her 
 hair Betty had fled. 
 
 It was on this afternoon that she brewed a dye of 
 walnut juice and carried it in secret to her room. 
 She had loosened her braids and was about to 
 plunge her head into the basin when Mrs. Ambler 
 came in upon her. " Why, Betty ! Betty ! " she cried 
 in horror. 
 
 Betty turned with a start, wrapped in her shining 
 hair. " It is the only thing left to do, mamma," she 
 said desperately. " I am going to dye it. It isn't 
 ladylike, I know, but red hair isn't ladylike either. 
 I have tried conjuring, and it won't conjure, so I'm 
 going to dye it." 
 
 "Betty! Betty!" was all Mrs. Ambler could 
 say, though she seized the basin and threw it from 
 the window as if it held poison. " If you ever let 
 that stuff touch your hair, I — I'll shave your head 
 for you," she declared as she left the room; but a 
 moment afterward she looked in again to add, 
 " Your grandmamma had red hair, and she was the 
 beauty of her day — there, now, you ought to be 
 ashamed of yourself ! " 
 
 So Betty smiled again, and when Virginia came 
 in to dress for supper, she found her parading about 
 in Aunt Lydia's best bombazine gown. 
 
 " This is how I'll look when I'm grown up," she 
 said, the corner of her eye on her sister. 
 
 " You'll look just lovely," returned Virginia, 
 (promptly, for she always said the sweetest thing at 
 'the sweetest time. 
 
College Days 79 
 
 " And I'm going to look like this when Dan comes 
 home next summer," resumed Betty, sedately. 
 
 " Not in Aunt Lydia' s dress ? " 
 
 " You goose ! Of course not. I'm going to get 
 Mammy to make me a Swiss muslin down to the 
 ground, and I'm going to wear six starched petti- 
 coats because I haven't any hoops. I'm just wild 
 to wear hoops, aren't you, Virginia ? " 
 
 " I reckon so," responded Virginia, doubtfully ; 
 " but it will be hard to sit down, don't you think ? " 
 
 "Oh, but I know how," said Betty. " Aunt 
 Lydia showed me how to do it gracefully. You 
 give a little kick — ever so little and nobody sees it 
 — and then you just sink into your seat. I can do 
 it well." 
 
 " You were always clever," exclaimed Virginia, 
 as sweetly as before. She was parting her satiny 
 hair over her forehead, and the glass gave back a 
 youthful likeness of Mrs. Ambler. She was the 
 beauty of the family, and she knew it, which made 
 her all the lovelier to Betty. 
 
 " I declare, your freckles are all gone," she said, 
 as her sister's head looked over her shoulder. " I 
 wonder if it is the buttermilk that has made you so 
 white?" 
 
 " It must be that," admitted Betty, who had used 
 it faithfully for the sixty nights " Aunt Lydia says 
 it works wonders." Then, as she looked at herself, 
 her eyes narrowed and she laughed aloud. " Why, 
 Dan won't know me," she cried merrily. 
 
 But whatever hopes she had of Dan withered in 
 the summer. When he came home for the holidays, 
 he brought with him an unmistakable swagger and 
 
80 The Battle-Ground 
 
 a supply of coloured neckerchiefs. On his first visit 
 to Uplands he called Virginia " my pretty child," 
 and said " Good day, little lady," to Betty. He car- 
 ried himself like an Indian, as the Governor put it, 
 and he was very lithe and muscular, though he did 
 not measure up to Champe by half a head. It was 
 the Mont joy blood in him, people thought, for the 
 Lightfoots were all of great height, and he had, too, 
 a shock of his father's coarse black hair, which 
 flared stiffly above the brilliant Lightfoot eyes. As 
 he galloped along the turnpike on Prince Rupert, 
 the travelling countrymen turned to look after him, 
 and muttered that " dare-devil Jack Mont joy had 
 risen from his grave — if he had a grave." 
 
 Once he met Betty at the gate, and catching her 
 up before him, dashed with her as far as Aunt Ail- 
 sey's cabin and back again. " You are as light as a 
 fly," he said with a laugh, " and not much bigger. 
 There, take your hair out of my eyes, or I'll ride 
 amuck." 
 
 Betty caught her hair in one hand and drew it 
 across her breast. " This is like — " she began 
 gayly, and checked herself. She was thinking of 
 " that devil Jack Montjoy and Jane Lightfoot." 
 
 " I must take my chance now," said Dan, in his 
 easy, masterful way. " You will be too old for this 
 by next year. Why, you will be in long dresses 
 then, and Virginia — have you noticed, by the way, 
 what a beauty Virginia is going to be ? " 
 
 " She is just lovely," heartily agreed Betty. 
 " She's prettier than your Great-aunt Emmeline, 
 isn't she?" 
 
 " By George, she is. And I've been in love with! 
 
College Days 8 1 
 
 Great-aunt Emmeline for ten years because I 
 couldn't find her match. I say, don't let anybody 
 go off with Virginia while I'm at college, will you ? " 
 . " All right," said Betty, and though she smiled at 
 him through her hair, her smile was not so bright as 
 it had been. It was all very well to hear Virginia 
 praised, she told herself, but she should have liked 
 it better had Dan been a little less emphatic. " I 
 don't think any one is going to run off with her," 
 she added gravely, and let the subject of her sister's 
 beauty pass. 
 
 But at the end of the week, when Dan went back 
 to college, her loyal heart reproached her, and she 
 confided to Virginia that " he thought her a great 
 deal lovelier than Great-aunt Emmeline." 
 
 " Really ? " asked Virginia, and determined to be 
 very nice to him when he came home for the holi- 
 days. 
 
 " But what does he say about you ? " she inquired 
 after a moment. 
 
 " About me ? " returned Betty. " Oh, he doesn't 
 say anything about me, except that I am kind." ■ 
 
 Virginia stooped and kissed her. " You are kind, 
 dear," she said in her sweetest voice. 
 
 And " kind," after all, was the word for Betty, 
 unless Big Abel had found one when he said, " She 
 is des all heart." It was Betty who had tramped 
 three miles through the snow last Christmas to carry 
 her gifts to the free negro Levi, who was " laid up " 
 and could not come to claim his share ; and it was 
 Betty who had asked as a present for herself the 
 lame boy Micah, that belonged to old Rainy-day 
 Jones. She had met Micah in the road, and from 
 
82 The Battle-Ground 
 
 that day the Governor's life was a burden until he 
 sent the negro up to her door on Christmas morn- 
 ing. There was never a sick slave or a homeless 
 dog that she would not fly out to welcome, bare- 
 headed and a little breathless, with the kindness 
 brimming over from her eyes. " She has her 
 father's head and her mother's heart," said the 
 Major to his wife, when he saw the girl going by 
 with the dogs leaping round her and a young fox 
 in her arms. " What a wife she would make for 
 Dan when she grows up! I wish he'd fancy her. 
 They'd be well suited, eh, Molly?" 
 
 " If he fancies the thing that is suited to him, he 
 is less of a man than I take him to be," retorted Mrs. 
 Lightfoot, with a cynicism which confounded the 
 Major. " He will lose his head over her doll baby 
 of a sister, I suppose — not that she isn't a good 
 girl," she added briskly. " Julia Ambler couldn't 
 have had a bad child if she had tried, though I con- 
 fess I am surprised that she could have helped hav- 
 ing a silly one; but Betty, why, there hasn't been 
 a girl since I grew up with so much sense in her 
 head as Betty Ambler has in her little finger." 
 
 " When I think of you fifty years ago, I must 
 admit that you put a high standard, Molly," inter- 
 posed the Major, who was always polite when he 
 was not angry. 
 
 " She spent a week with me while you were 
 away," Mrs. Lightfoot went on in an unchanged 
 voice, though with a softened face, " and, I declare, 
 shejcept house as well as I could have done it my- 
 self, and Cupid says she washed the pink teaset 
 every morning with her own hands, and she actually, 
 
College Days 83 
 
 cured Rhody's lameness with a liniment she made 
 out of Jimson weed. I tell you now, Mr. Light- 
 foot, that, if I get sick, Betty Ambler is the only 
 girl I'm going to have inside the house." 
 
 " Very well, my dear," said the Major, meekly, 
 " I'll try to remember ; and, in that case, I reckon 
 we'd as well drop a hint to Dan, eh, Molly ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot looked at him a moment in silence. 
 Then she said " Humph ! " beneath her breath, and 
 took up her knitting from the little table at her side. 
 
 But Dan was living fast at college, and the 
 Major's hints were thrown away. He read of " the 
 Ambler girls who are growing into real beauties," 
 and he skipped the part that said, " Your grand- 
 mother has taken a great fancy to Betty and enjoys 
 having her about." 
 
 " Here's something for you, Champe," he re- 
 marked with a laugh, as he tossed the letter upon the 
 table. " Gather your beauties while you may, for 
 I prefer bull pups. Did Batt Horsford tell you I'd 
 offered him twenty-five dollars for that one of his ? " 
 
 Champe picked up the letter and unfolded it 
 slowly. He was a tall, slender young fellow, with 
 curling pale brown hair and fine straight features. 
 His face, in the strong light of the window by which 
 he stood, showed a tracery of blue veins across the 
 high forehead. 
 
 " Oh, shut up about bull pups," he said irritably. 
 " You are as bad as a breeder, and yet you couldn't 
 tell that thoroughbred of John Morson's from a 
 cross with a terrier." 
 
 " You bet I couldn't," cried Dan, firing up ; but 
 Champe was reading the letter, and a faint flush 
 
84 The Battle-Ground 
 
 had risen to his face. " The girl is like a spray of 
 golden-rod in the sunshine," wrote the Major, with 
 his old-fashioned rhetoric. 
 
 " What is it he says, eh ? " asked Dan, noting the 
 flush and drawing his conclusions. 
 
 " He says that Aunt Molly and himself will meet 
 us at the White Sulphur next summer." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean that. What is it he says about 
 the girls; they are real beauties aren't they? By 
 the way, Champe, why don't you marry one of 
 them and settle down ? " 
 
 " Why don't you ? " retorted Champe, as Dan got 
 up and called to Big Abel to bring his riding clothes. 
 " Oh, I'm not a lady's man," he said lightly. " I've 
 too moody a face for them," and he began to dress 
 himself with the elaborate care which had won for 
 him the title of " Beau " Montjoy. 
 
 By the next summer, Betty and Virginia had shot 
 up as if in a night, but neither Champe nor Dan 
 came home. After weeks of excited preparation, 
 the Major and Mrs. Lightfoot started, with Congo 
 and Mitty, for the White Sulphur, where the boys 
 were awaiting them. As the months went on, vague 
 rumours reached the Governor's ears — rumours 
 which the Major did not quite disprove when he 
 came back in the autumn. " Yes, the boy is sowing 
 his wild oats," he said ; " but what can you expect, 
 Governor? Why, he is not yet twenty, and young 
 blood is hot blood, sir." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that he has been losing at 
 cards," returned the Governor ; " but take my ad- 
 vice, and let him pick himself up when he falls t6 
 hurt. Don't back him up, Major." 
 
College Days 85 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! " exclaimed the Major, testily. 
 " You're like Molly, Governor, and, bless my soul, 
 one old woman is as much as I can manage. Why, 
 she wants me to let the boy starve." 
 
 The Governor sighed, but he did not protest. He 
 liked Dan, with all his youthful errors, and he 
 wanted to put out a hand to hold him back from 
 destruction; but he feared to bring the terrible 
 flush to the Major's face. It was better to leave 
 things alone, he thought, and so sighed and said 
 nothing. 
 
 That was an autumn of burning political condi- 
 tions, and the excited slavery debates in the North 
 were reechoing through the Virginia mountains. 
 The Major, like the old war horse that he was, had 
 already pricked up his ears, and determined to lend 
 his tongue or his sword, as his state might require. 
 That a fight could go on in the Union so long as 
 Virginia or himself kept out of it, seemed to him a 
 possibility little less than preposterous. 
 
 " Didn't we fight the Revolution, sir ? and didn't 
 we fight the War of 1812? and didn't we fight the 
 Mexican War to boot ? " he would demand. " And, 
 bless my soul, aren't we ready to fight all the Yan- 
 kees in the universe, and to whip them clean out of 
 the Union, too ? Why, it wouldn't take us ten days 
 to have them on their knees, sir." 
 
 The Governor did not laugh now; the times 
 were too grave for that. His clear eyes had seen 
 whither they were drifting, and he had thrown his 
 influence against the tide, which, he knew, would 
 but sweep over him in the end. " You are out of 
 place in Virginia, Major," he said seriously. " Vif- 
 
86 The Battle-Ground 
 
 ginia wants peace, and she wants the Union. Go 
 south, my dear sir, go south." 
 
 During the spring before he had gone south him- 
 self to a convention at Montgomery, and he had 
 spoken there against one of the greatest of the 
 Southern orators. His state had upheld him, but the 
 Major had not. He came home to find his old neigh- 
 bour red with resentment, and refusing for the first 
 few days to shake the hand of " a man who would 
 tamper with the honour of Virginia." At the end of 
 the week the Major's hand was held out, but his 
 heart still bore his grievance, and he began quoting 
 William L. Yancey, as he had once quoted Mr. Ad- 
 dison. In the little meetings at Uplands or at Cheri- 
 coke, he would now declaim the words of the im- 
 passioned agitator as vigorously as in the old days 
 he had recited those of the polished gentleman of 
 letters. The rector and the doctor would sit silent 
 and abashed, and only the Governor would break in 
 now and then with : " You go too far, Major. There 
 is a step from which there is no drawing back, and 
 that step means ruin to your state, sir." 
 
 " Ruin, sir ? Nonsense ! nonsense ! We made 
 the Union, and we'll unmake it when we please. We 
 didn't make slavery; but, if Virginia wants slaves, 
 by God, sir, she shall have slaves ! " 
 
 It was after such a discussion in the Governor's 
 library that the old gentleman rose one evening to 
 depart in his wrath. " The man who sits up in my 
 presence and questions my right to own my slaves is 
 a damned black abolitionist, sir," he thundered as 
 he went, and by the time he reached his coach he 
 was so blinded by his rage that Congo, the driver, 
 
College Days 87 
 
 was obliged to lift him bodily into his seat. " Dis 
 yer ain' no way ter do, Ole Marster," said the negro, 
 reproachfully. " How I gwine teck cyar you like 
 Ole Miss done tole me, w'en you let yo' bile git ter 
 yo' haid like dis ? 'Tain' no way ter do, suh." 
 
 The Major was too full for silence ; and, ignoring 
 the Governor, who had hurried out to beseech him 
 to return, he let his rage burst forth. 
 
 " I can't help it, Congo, I can't help it ! " he said. 
 " They want to take you from me, do you hear ? 
 and that black Republican party up north wants to 
 take you, too. They say I've no right to you, Congo, 
 — bless my soul, and you were born on my own 
 land ! " 
 
 " Go 'way, Ole Marster, who gwine min' w'at dey 
 say?" returned Congo, soothingly. "You des bet- 
 ter wrop dat ar neck'chif roun' yo' thoat er Ole 
 Miss'll git atter you sho' es you live ! " 
 
 The Major wiped his eyes on the end of the neck- 
 erchief as he tied it about his throat. " But, if they 
 elect their President, he may send down an army to 
 free you," he went on, with something like a sob of 
 anger, " and I'd like to know what we'd do then, 
 Congo." 
 
 " Lawd, Lawd, suh," said Congo, as he wrapped 
 the robe about his master's knees. " Did you ever 
 heah tell er sech doin's ! " then, as he mounted the 
 box, he leaned down and called out reassuringly, 
 " Don' you mm', Ole Marster, we'll des loose de 
 dawgs on 'em, dat's w'at we'll do," and they rolled 
 off indignantly, leaving the Governor half angry 
 and half apologetic upon his portico. 
 
 It was on the way home that evening that Congo 
 
88 The Battle-Ground 
 
 spied in the sassafras bushes beside the road a run- 
 away slave of old Rainy-day Jones's, and descended, 
 with a shout, to deliver his brother into bondage. 
 
 "Hi, Ole Marster, w'at I gwine tie him wid?" 
 he demanded gleefully. 
 
 The Major looked out of the window, and his face 
 went white. 
 
 " What's that on his cheek, Congo ? " he asked in 
 a whisper. 
 
 " Dat's des whar dey done hit 'im, Ole Marster. 
 How I gwine tie 'im ? " 
 
 But the Major had looked again, and the awful 
 redness rose to his brow. 
 
 " Shut up, you fool ! " he said with a roar, as he 
 dived under his seat and brought out his brandy 
 flask. " Give him a swallow of that — be quick, do 
 you hear? Pour it into your cup, sir, and give 
 him that corn pone in your pocket. I see it sticking 
 out. There, now hoist him up beside you, and, if I 
 meet that rascal Jones, I'll blow his damn brains 
 out ! " 
 
 The Major doubtless would have fulfilled his 
 oath as surely as his twelve peers would have shaken 
 his hand afterwards ; but, by the time they came up 
 with Rainy-day a mile ahead, his wrath had settled 
 and he had decided that " he didn't want such dirty 
 blood upon his hands." 
 
 So he took a different course, and merely swore a 
 little as he threw a roll of banknotes into the road. 
 " Don't open your mouth to me, you hell hound," 
 he cried, " or I'll have you whipped clean out of this 
 county, sir, and there's not a gentleman in Vir- 
 ginia that wouldn't lend a hand. Don't open your 
 
College Days 89 
 
 n»duth to me, I tell you; here's the price of your 
 property, and you can stoop in the dirt to pick it 
 up. There's no man alive that shall question the 
 divine right of slavery in my presence; but — but 
 it is an institution for gentlemen, and you, sir, are 
 a damned scoundrel ! " 
 
 With which the Maj,or and old Rainy-day rode 
 on in opposite ways*. 
 
BOOK SECOND 
 YOUNG BLOOD 
 
BOOK SECOND 
 
 YOUNG BLOOD 
 
 THE MAJOR S CHRISTMAS 
 
 On Christmas Eve the great logs blazed at Cher- 
 icoke. From the open door the red light of the fire 
 streamed through the falling snow upon the broad 
 drive where the wheel ruts had frozen into ribbons 
 of ice. The naked boughs of the old elms on the 
 lawn tapped the peaked roof with twigs as cold 
 and bright as steel, and the two high urns beside the 
 steps had an iridescent fringe around their marble 
 basins. 
 
 In the hall, beneath swinging sprays of mistletoe 
 and holly, the Major and his hearty cronies were 
 dipping apple toddy from the silver punch bowl 
 half hidden in its wreath of evergreens. Behind 
 them the panelled parlour was aglow with warmth, 
 and on its shining wainscoting Great-aunt Emme- 
 line, under her Christmas garland, held Her red apple 
 stiffly away from the skirt of her amber brocade. 
 
 The Major, who had just filled the rector's glass, 
 let the ladle fall with a splash, and hurried to the 
 open door. 
 
 93 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 5 
 
94 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " They're coming, Molly ! " he called excitedly, 
 " I hear their horses in the drive. No, bless my 
 soul, it's wheels! The Governor's here, Molly! 
 Fill their glasses at once — they'll be frozen 
 through ! " 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot, who had been watching from the 
 ivied panes of the parlour, rustled, with sharp ex- 
 clamation, into the hall, and began hastily dipping 
 from the silver punch bowl. " I really think, Mr. 
 Lightfoot, that the house would be more comfortable 
 if you'd be content to keep the front door closed," she 
 found time to remark. " Do take your glass by the 
 fire, Mr. Blake; I declare, I positively feel the sleet 
 in my face. Don't you think it would be just as hos- 
 pitable, Mr. Lightfoot, to open to them when they 
 knock?" 
 
 " What, keep the door shut on Christmas Eve, 
 Molly ! " exclaimed the Major from the front steps, 
 where the snow was falling on his bare head. 
 " Why, you're no better than a heathen. It's time 
 you were learning your catechism over again. Ah, 
 here they are, here they are! Come in, ladies, 
 come in. The night is cold, but the welcome's 
 warm. — Cupid, you fool, bring an umbrella, and 
 don't stand grinning there. — Here, my dear Miss 
 Lydia, take my arm, and never mind the weather; 
 we've the best apple toddy in Virginia to warm you 
 with, and the biggest log in the woods for you to 
 look at. Ah, come in, come in," and he led Miss 
 Lydia, in her white wool " fascinator," into the 
 house where Mrs. Lightfoot stood waiting with 
 open arms and the apple toddy. The Governor had 
 insisted upon carrying his wife, lest she chill her 
 
The Major's Christmas 95 
 
 feet, and Betty and Virginia, in their long cloaks, 
 fluttered across the snow and up the steps. As 
 they reached the hall, the Major caught them in his 
 arms and soundly kissed them. " It isn't Christmas 
 every day, you know," he lamented ruefully, " and 
 even our friend Mr. Addison wasn't steeled against 
 rosy cheeks, though he was but a poor creature who 
 hadn't been to Virginia. But come to the fire, come 
 to the fire. There's eggnog to your liking, Mr. Bill, 
 and just a sip of this, Miss Lydia, to warm you up. 
 You may defy the wind, ma'am, with a single sip of 
 my apple toddy." He seized the poker and, while 
 Congo brought the glasses, prodded the giant log 
 until the flames leaped, roaring, up the chimney and 
 the wainscoting glowed deep red. 
 
 " What, not a drop, Miss Lydia ? " he cried, in 
 aggrieved tones, when he turned his back upon the 
 fire. 
 
 Miss Lydia shook her head, blushing as she un- 
 tied her " fascinator." She was fond of apple toddy, 
 but she regarded the taste as an indelicate one, and 
 would as soon have admitted, before gentlemen, a 
 liking for cabbage. 
 
 " Don't drink it, dear," she whispered to Betty, 
 as the girl took her glass ; " it will give you a vulgar 
 colour." 
 
 Betty turned upon her the smile of beaming affec- 
 tion with which she always regarded her family. 
 She was standing under the mistletoe in her light 
 blue cloak and hood bordered with swan's-down, and 
 her eyes shone like lamps in the bright pallor of her 
 face. 
 
 " Why, it is delicious ! " she said, with the pretty 
 
96 The Battle-Ground 
 
 effusion the old man loved. " It is better than my 
 eggnog, isn't it, papa ? " 
 
 " If anything can be better than your eggnog, my 
 dear," replied the Governor, courteously, " it is the 
 Major's apple toddy." The Major bowed, and Betty 
 gave a merry little nod. " If you hadn't put it 
 so nicely, I should never have forgiven you," she 
 laughed ; " but he always puts it nicely, Major, 
 doesn't he? I made him the other day a plum 
 pudding of my very own, — I wouldn't even let Aunt 
 Floretta seed the raisins, — and when it came on 
 burnt, what do you think he said? Why, I asked 
 him how he liked it, and he thought for a minute 
 and replied, ' My dear, it's the very best burnt 
 plum pudding I ever ate.' Now wasn't that dear of 
 him?" 
 
 " Ah, but you should have heard how he put 
 things when he was in politics," said the Major, re- 
 filling his glass. " On my word, he could make the 
 truth sound sweeter than most men could make a 
 lie." 
 
 " Come, come, Major," protested the Governor. 
 " Julia, can't you induce our good friend to for- 
 bear?" 
 
 " He knows I like to hear it," said Mrs. Ambler, 
 turning from a discussion of her Christmas dinner 
 with Mrs. Lightfoot. 
 
 " Then you shall hear it, madam," declared the 
 Major, " and I may as well say at once that if the 
 Governor hasn't told you about the reply he made 
 to Plaintain Dudley when he asked him for his po- 
 litical influence, you haven't the kind of husband, 
 ma'am, that Molly Lightfoot has got. Keep a 
 
The Major's Christmas 97 
 
 secret from Molly ! Why, I'd as soon try to keep a 
 keg full of brandy from following an auger." 
 
 " Auger, indeed ! " exclaimed the little old lady, 
 to whom the Major's facetiousness was the only 
 serious thing about him. " Your secrets are like 
 apples, sir, that hang to every passer-by, until I 
 store them away. Auger, indeed ! " 
 
 " No offence, my dear," was the Major's meek 
 apology. " An auger is a very useful implement, 
 eh, Governor; and it's Plaintain Dudley, after all, 
 that we're concerned with. Do you remember 
 Plaintain, Mrs. Ambler, a big ruddy fellow, with 
 ruffled shirts ? Oh, he prided himself on his shirts, 
 did Plaintain ! " 
 
 " A very becoming weakness," said Mrs. Ambler, 
 smiling at the Governor, who was blushing above 
 his tucks. 
 
 " Becoming ? Well, well, I dare say," admitted 
 the Major. " Plaintain thought so, at any rate. 
 Why, I can see him now, on the day he came to the 
 Governor, puffing out his front, and twirling his 
 white silk handkerchief. ' May I ask your opinion 
 of me, sir?' he had the audacity to begin, and the 
 Governor! Bless my soul, ma'am, the Governor 
 bowed his politest bow, and replied with his pleas- 
 antest smile, ' My opinion of you, sir, is that 
 were you as great a gentleman as you are a scoun- 
 drel, you would be a greater gentleman than my 
 Lord Chesterfield.' Those were his words, ma'am, 
 on my oath, those were his words ! " 
 
 " But he was a scoundrel ! " exclaimed the Gov- 
 ernor. " Why, he swindled women, Major. It was 
 always a mystery to me how you tolerated him." 
 
98 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " And a mystery to Mrs. Lightfoot," responded 
 the Major, in a half whisper ; " but as I tell her, sir, 
 you mustn't judge a man by his company, or a 'pos- 
 sum by his grin." Then he raised a well-filled 
 glass and gave a toast that brought even Mr. Bill 
 upon his feet, " To Virginia, the home of brave 
 men and," he straightened himself, tossed back 
 his hair, and bowed to the ladies, " and of 
 angels." 
 
 The Governor raised his glass with a smile. " To 
 the angels who take pity upon the men," he said. 
 
 " That more angels may take pity upon men," 
 added the rector, rising from his seat by the fireside, 
 with a wink at the doctor. 
 
 And the toast was drunk, standing, while the 
 girls ran up the crooked stair to lay aside their 
 wraps in a three-cornered bedroom. 
 
 As Virginia threw off her pink cloak and twirled 
 round in her flaring skirts, Betty gave a little gasp 
 of admiration and stood holding the lighted candle, 
 with its sprig of holly, above her head. The tall 
 girlish figure, in its flounces of organdy muslin, 
 with the smooth parting of bright brown hair and 
 the dovelike eyes, had flowered suddenly into a 
 beauty that took her breath away. 
 
 " Why, you are a vision — a vision ! " she cried 
 delightedly. 
 
 Virginia stopped short in her twirling and settled 
 the illusion ruche over her slim white shoulders. 
 " It's the first time I've dressed like this, you know," 
 she said, glancing at herself in the dim old mirror. 
 
 " Ah, I'm not half so pretty," sighed Betty, hope- 
 lessly. " Is the rose in place, do you think ? " She 
 
The Major's Christmas 99 
 
 had fastened a white rose in the thick coil on her 
 neck, where it lay half hidden by her hair. 
 
 " It looks just lovely," replied Virginia, heartily. 
 " Do you hear some one in the drive ? " She went 
 to the window, and looked out into the falling snow, 
 her bare shoulders shrinking from the frosted pane. 
 " What a long ride the boys have had, and how 
 cold they'll be. Why, the ground is quite covered 
 with snow." Betty, with the candle still in her hand, 
 turned from the mirror, and gave a quick glance 
 through the sloping window, to the naked elms out- 
 side. " Ah, poor things, poor things ! " she cried. 
 
 " But they have their riding cloaks," said Vir- 
 ginia, in her placid voice. 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean Dan and Champe and Big 
 Abel," answered Betty, " I mean the elms, the poor 
 naked elms that wear their clothes all summer, and 
 are stripped bare for the cold. How I should like 
 to warm you, you dear things," she added, going to 
 the window. Against the tossing branches her 
 hair made a glow of colour, and her vivid face was 
 warm with tenderness. " And Jane Lightfoot rode 
 away on a night like this ! " she whispered after a 
 pause. 
 
 " She wore a muslin dress and a coral necklace, 
 you know," said Virginia, in the same low tone, 
 " and she had only a knitted shawl over her head 
 when she met Jack Mont joy at the end of the drive. 
 He wrapped her in his cape, and they rode like mad 
 to the town — and she was laughing ! Uncle Shad- 
 rach met them in the road, and he says he heard 
 her laughing in the wind. She must have been 
 very wicked, mustn't she, Betty ? " 
 
IOO The Battle- Ground 
 
 But Betty was looking into the storm, and did 
 not answer. " I wonder if he were in the least like 
 Dan," she murmured a moment later. 
 
 " Well, he had black hair, and Dan has that," 
 responded Virginia, lightly ; " and he had a square 
 chin, and Dan has that, too. Oh, every one says 
 that Dan's the image of his father, except for the 
 Lightfoot eyes. I'm glad he has the Lightfoot eyes, 
 anyway. Are you ready to go down ? " 
 
 Betty was ready, though her face had grown a 
 little grave, and with a last look at the glass, they 
 caught hands and went sedately down the winding 
 stair. 
 
 In the hall below they met Mrs. Lightfoot, who 
 sent Virginia into the panelled parlour, and bore 
 Betty off to the kitchen to taste the sauce for the 
 plum pudding. " I can't do a thing on earth with 
 Rhody," she remarked uneasily, throwing a knitted 
 scarf over her head as they went from the back 
 porch along the covered way that led to the brick 
 kitchen. " She insists that yours is the only palate 
 in all the country she will permit to pass judg- 
 ment upon her sauce. I made the Major try it, and 
 he thinks it needs a dash more of rum, but Rhody 
 says she shan't be induced to change it until she 
 has had your advice. Here, Rhody, open the door; 
 I've brought your young lady." 
 
 The door swung back with a jerk upon the big 
 kitchen, where before the Christmas turkeys toast- 
 ing on the spit, Aunt Rhody was striding to and 
 fro like an Amazon in charcoal. From the begin- 
 ning of the covered way they had been guided by 
 the tones of penetrant contempt, with which she 
 
The Major's Christmas 101 
 
 lashed the circle of house servants who had gath- 
 ered to her assistance. " You des lemme alont now," 
 was the advice she royally offered. " Ef you gwine 
 ax me w'at you'd better do, I des tell you right 
 now, you'd better lemme alont. Ca'line, you teck 
 yo' eyes off dat ar roas' pig, er I'll fling dis yer 
 b'ilin' lard right spang on you. I ain' gwine hev 
 none er my cookin' conjured fo' my ve'y face. 
 Congo, you shet dat mouf er yourn, er I'll shet hit 
 wid er flat-iron, en den hit'll be shet ter stay." 
 
 Then, as Mrs. Lightfoot and Betty came in, she 
 broke off, and wiped her large black hands on her 
 apron, before she waved with pride to the shelves 
 and tables bending beneath her various creations. 
 " I'se done stuff dat ar pig so full er chestnuts dat 
 he's fitten ter bus'," she exclaimed proudly. 
 " Lawd, Lawd, hit's a pity he ain' 'live agin des ter 
 tase hese'f!" 
 
 " Poor little pig," said Betty, " he looks so 
 small and pink, Aunt Rhody, I don't see how you 
 have the heart to roast him." 
 
 " I'se done stuff 'im full," returned Aunt Rhody, 
 in justification. 
 
 " I hope he's well done, Rhody," briskly broke 
 in Mrs. Lightfoot ; " and be sure to bake the hams 
 until the juice runs through the bread crumbs. Is 
 everything ready for to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Des es ready es ef 'twuz fer Kingdom Come, 
 Ole Miss, en dar ain' gwine be no better dinner on 
 Jedgment Day nurr, I don' cyar who gwine cook 
 hit. You des tase dis yer sass — dat's all I ax, you 
 des tase dis yer sass." 
 
 "You taste it, Betty," begged Mrs. Lightfoot, 
 
102 The Battle- Ground 
 
 shrinking from the approaching spoon ; and Betty 
 tasted and pronounced it excellent, " and there never 
 was an Ambler who wasn't a judge of ■ sass,' " she 
 added. 
 
 Moved by the compliment, Aunt Rhody fell back 
 and regarded the girl, with her arms akimbo. " I 
 d'clar, her eyes do des shoot fire," she exclaimed 
 admiringly. " I dunno whar de beaux done hid 
 deyse'ves dese days; hit's a wonner dey ain' des 
 a-busin' dey sides ter git yer. Marse Dan, now, 
 whynt he come a-prancin' roun' dese yer parts ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot looked at Betty and saw her 
 colour rise. " That will do, Rhody," she cautioned ; 
 " you will let the turkeys burn," but as they moved 
 toward the door, Betty herself paused and looked 
 back. 
 
 " I gave your Christmas gift to Uncle Cupid, 
 Aunt Rhody," she said; " he put it under the joists 
 in your cabin, so you mustn't look at it till morning." 
 
 " Lawd, chile, I'se done got Christmas gifts afo* 
 now," replied Aunt Rhody, ungratefully, " en I'se 
 done got a pa'cel er no count ones, too. Folks dey 
 give Christmas gifts same es de Lawd he give chil- 
 lun — dey des han's out w'at dey'e got on dey 
 han's, wid no stiddyin' 'bout de tase. Sakes er live ! 
 Ef'n de Lawd hadn't hed a plum sight ter git rid er, 
 he 'ouldn't er sont Ca'line all dose driblets, fo' he'd 
 done sont 'er a husban'." 
 
 " Husban', huh ! " exclaimed Ca'line, with a snort 
 from the fireplace. " Husban' yo'se'f ! No mo' 
 niggerisms fer me, ma'am ! " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Ca'line," said Mrs., Light- 
 foot, sternly ; " and, Rhody, you ought to be 
 
The Major's Christmas 103 
 
 ashamed of yourself to talk so before your Miss 
 Betty." 
 
 " Husban', huh ! " repeated the indignant Ca'line, 
 under her breath. 
 
 " Hold your tongues, both of you," cried the old 
 lady, as she lifted her silk skirt in both hands and 
 swept from the kitchen. 
 
 When they reached the house again, they heard 
 the Major's voice, on its highest key, demanding: 
 " Molly ! Why, bless my soul, what's become of 
 Molly ? " He was calling from the front steps, and 
 the sound of tramping feet rang in the drive below. 
 Against the whiteness of the storm Big Abel's face 
 shone in the light from the open door, and about 
 him, as he held the horses, Dan and Champe and a 
 guest or two were dismounting upon the steps. 
 
 As the old lady went forward, Champe rushed 
 into the hall, and caught her in his arms. 
 
 " On my word, you're so young I didn't know 
 you," he cried gayly. " If you keep this up, Aunt 
 Molly, there'll be a second Lightfoot beauty yet. 
 You grow prettier every day — I declare you do ! " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you scamp," said the old 
 lady, flushing with pleasure, " or there'll be a second 
 Ananias as well. Here, Betty, come and wish this 
 bad boy a Merry Christmas." 
 
 Betty looked round with a smile, but as she did so, 
 her eyes went beyond Champe, and saw Dan stand- 
 ing in the doorway, his soft slouch hat in his hand, 
 and a powdering of snow on his dark hair. He had 
 grown bigger and older in the last few months, 
 and the Lightfoot eyes, with the Lightfoot twinkle 
 in their pupils, gave an expression of careless 
 
104 The Battle-Ground 
 
 humour to his pale, strongly moulded face. The 
 same humour was in his voice even as he held his 
 grandfather's hand. 
 
 " By George, we're glad to get here," was his 
 greeting. " Morson's been cursing our hospitality 
 for the last three miles. Grandpa, this is my friend 
 Morson — Jack Morson, you've heard me speak 
 of him; and this is Bland Diggs, you know of 
 him, too." 
 
 " Why, to be sure, to be sure," cried the Major, 
 heartily, as he held out both hands. " You're wel- 
 come, gentlemen, as welcome as Christmas — what 
 more can I say? But come in, come in to the fire. 
 Cupid, the glasses ! " 
 
 " Ah, the ladies first," suggested Dan, lightly ; 
 " grace before meat, you know. So here you are, 
 grandma, cap and all. And Virginia; — ye gods! 
 — is this little Virginia?" 
 
 His laughing eyes were on her as she stood, tall 
 and lovely, beneath a Christmas garland, and with 
 the laughter still in them, they blazed with approval 
 of her beauty. " Oh, but do you know, how 
 did you do it?" he demanded with his blithe confi- 
 dence, as if it mattered very little how his words 
 were met. 
 
 " It wasn't any trouble, believe me," responded 
 Virginia, blushing, " not half so much trouble as 
 you took to tie your neckerchief." 
 
 Dan's hand went to his throat. " Then I may 
 presume that it is mere natural genius," he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Genius, to grow tall ? " 
 
 "Well, yes, just that — to grow tall," then he 
 
The Major's Christmas 105 
 
 caught sight of Betty, and held out his hand again. 
 " And you, little comrade, you haven't grown up 
 to the world, I see." 
 
 Betty laughed and looked him over with the 
 smile the Major loved. " I content myself with 
 merely growing up to you," she returned. 
 
 " Up to me ? Why, you barely reach my 
 shoulder." 
 
 " Well, up to the greater part of you, at least." 
 
 " Ah, up to my heart," said Dan, and Betty col- 
 oured beneath the twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 The colour was still in her face when the Major 
 came out, with Mrs. Ambler on his arm, and led 
 the way to supper. 
 
 " All of us are hungry, and some of us have a 
 day's ride behind us," he remarked, as, after the 
 rector's grace, he stood waving the carving-knife 
 above the roasted turkey. " I'd like to know how 
 often during the last hour you've thought of this 
 turkey, Mr. Morson?" 
 
 " It has had a fair share of my thoughts, I'm 
 forced to admit, Major," responded Jack Morson, 
 readily. He was a hearty, light-haired young fellow, 
 with a girlish complexion and pale blue eyes, as 
 round as marbles. " As fair a share as the apple 
 toddy has had of Diggs's, I'll be bound." 
 
 " Apple toddy ! " protested Diggs, turning his 
 serious face, flushed from the long ride, upon the 
 Major. " I was too busy thinking we should never 
 get here; and we were lost once, weren't we, 
 Beau ? " he asked of Dan. 
 
 " Well, I for one am safely housed for the night, 
 doctor," declared the rector, with an uneasy glance 
 
io6 The Battle-Ground 
 
 through the window, " and I trust that Mrs. Blake's 
 reproach will melt before the snow does. But 
 what's that about being lost, Dan ? " 
 
 " Oh, we got off the road," replied Dan ; " but I 
 gave Prince Rupert the rein and he brought us in. 
 The sense that horse has got makes me fairly- 
 ashamed of going to college in his place; and I 
 may as well warn you, Mr. Blake ihat when I get 
 ready to go to Heaven, I shan't seek your guidance 
 at all — I'll merely nose Prince Rupert at the Bible 
 and give him his head." 
 
 " It's a comfort to know, at least, that you won't be 
 trusting to your own deserts, my boy," responded 
 the rector, who dearly loved his joke, as he helped 
 himself to yellow pickle. 
 
 " Let us hope that the straight and narrow way 
 is a little clearer than the tavern road to-night," 
 said Champe. " I'm afraid you'll have trouble get- 
 ting back, Governor." 
 
 " Afraid ! " took up the Major, before the Gov- 
 ernor could reply. " Why, where are your man- 
 ners, my lad ? It will be no ill wind that keeps them 
 beneath our roof. We'll make room for you, ladies, 
 never fear; the house will stretch itself to fit the 
 welcome, eh, Molly ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot, looking a little anxious, put for- 
 ward a hearty assent ; but the Governor laughed and 
 threw back the Major's hospitality as easily as it 
 was proffered. 
 
 " I know that your welcome's big enough to 
 hold us, my dear Major," he said ; " but Hosea's 
 driving us, you see, and he could take us along the 
 turnpike blindfold. Why, he actually discovered 
 
The Major's Christmas 107 
 
 in passing just before the storm that somebody had 
 dug up a sugar berry bush from the corner of 
 your old rail fence." 
 
 " And we really must get back," insisted Mrs. 
 Ambler, " we haven't even fixed the servants' 
 Christmas, and Betty has to fill the stockings for the 
 children in the quarters." 
 
 " Then if you will go, go you shall," cried the 
 Major, as heartily as he had pressed his invitation. 
 " You shall get back, ma'am, if I have to go before 
 you with a shovel and clear the snow away. So 
 just a bit more of this roast pig, just a bit, Gov- 
 ernor. My dear Miss Lydia, I beg you to try that 
 spiced beef — and you, Mr. Bill ? — Cupid, Mr. Bill 
 will have a piece of roast pig." 
 
 By the time the Tokay was opened, the Major 
 had grown very jolly, and he began to exchange 
 jokes with the Governor and the rector. Mr. Bill 
 and the doctor, neither of whom could have told a 
 story for his life, listened with a kind of heavy 
 gravity; and the young men, as they rattled off a 
 college tale or two, kept their eyes on Betty and 
 Virginia. 
 
 Betty, leaning back in her high mahogany chair, 
 and now and then putting in a word with the bright 
 effusion which belonged to her, gave ear half to 
 the Major's anecdotes, and half to a jest of Jack 
 Morson's. Before her branched a silver candela- 
 brum, and beyond it, with the light in his face, Dan 
 was sitting. She watched him with a frank curios- 
 ity from eyes, where the smile, with which she 
 had answered the Major, still lingered in a gleam 
 of merriment. There was a puzzled wonder in her 
 
108 The Battle-Ground 
 
 mind that Dan — the Dan of her childhood — * 
 should have become for her, of a sudden, but a 
 strong, black-haired stranger from whom she shrank 
 with a swift timidity. She looked at Champe's high 
 blue- veined forehead and curling brown hair; he 
 was still the big boy she had played with ; but when 
 she went back to Dan, the wonder returned with a 
 kind of irritation, and she felt that she should like 
 to shake him and have it out between them as she 
 used to do before he went away. What was the 
 meaning of it? Where the difference? As he sat 
 across from her, with his head thrown back and his 
 eyes dark with laughter, her look questioned him 
 half humorously, half in alarm. From his broad 
 brow to his strong hand, playing idly with a little 
 heap of bread crumbs, she knew that she was con- 
 scious of his presence — with a consciousness that 
 had quickened into a living thing. 
 
 To Dan, himself, her gaze brought but the 
 knowledge that her smile was upon him, and he 
 met her question with lifted eyebrows and per- 
 plexed amusement. What he had once called " the 
 Betty look " was in her face, — so kind a look, 
 so earnest yet so humorous, with a sweet sane 
 humour at her own bewilderment, that it held 
 his eyes an instant before they plunged back to 
 Virginia — an instant only, but long enough for 
 him to feel the thrill of an impulse which he did 
 not understand. Dear little Betty, he thought, ten- 
 derly, and went back to her sister. 
 
 The next moment he was telling himself that " the 
 girl was a tearing beauty." He liked that modest 
 droop of her head and those bashful soft eyes, as 
 
The Major's Christmas 109 
 
 if, by George, as if she were really afraid of him. 
 Or was it Champe or Jack Morson that she bent 
 her bewitching glance upon? Well, Champe, or 
 Morson, or himself, in a week they would all be 
 over head and ears in love with her, and let him win 
 who might. It was mere folly, of course, to break 
 one's heart over a girl, and there was no chance of 
 that so long as he had his horses and the bull pups 
 to fall back upon ; but she was deucedly pretty, 
 and if he ever came to the old house to live it would 
 be rather jolly to have her about. He would be 
 twenty-one by this time next year, and a man of 
 twenty-one was old enough to settle down a bit. In 
 the meantime he laughed and met Virginia's eye, 
 and they both blushed and looked away quickly. 
 
 But when they left the dining room an hour later, 
 it was not Virginia that Dan sought. He had 
 learned the duties of hospitality in the Major's 
 school, and so he sat down beside Miss Lydia and 
 asked her about her window garden, while Jack 
 Morson made desperate love to his beautiful neigh- 
 bour. Once, indeed, he drew Betty aside for an in- 
 stant, but it was only to whisper : " Look here, you'll 
 be real nice to Diggs, won't you? He's bashful, 
 you know, and besides he's awfully poor, and works 
 like the devil. You make him enjoy his holidays, 
 and I — well, yes, I'll let that fox get away next 
 week, I declare I will." 
 
 " All right," agreed Betty, " it's a bargain. Mr. 
 Diggs shall have a merry Christmas, and the fox 
 shall have his life. You'll keep faith with me?" 
 
 " Sworn," said Dan, and he went back to Miss 
 Lydia, while Betty danced a reel with young Diggs, 
 
no The Battle-Ground 
 
 who fell in love with her before he was an hour 
 older. The terms cost him his heart, perhaps, but 
 there was a life at stake, and Betty, who had not a 
 touch of the coquette in her nature, would have 
 flirted open-eyed with the rector could she have 
 saved a robin from the shot. As for Diggs, he might 
 have been a family portrait or a Christmas garland 
 for all the sentiment she gave him. 
 
 When she went upstairs some hours later to put 
 on her wraps, she had forgotten, indeed, that Diggs 
 or his emotion was in existence. She tied on her 
 blue hood with the swan's-down, and noticed, as she 
 did so, that the white rose was gone from her hair. 
 " I hope I lost it after supper," she thought rather 
 wistfully, for it was becoming ; and then she slipped 
 into her long cloak and started down again. It was 
 not until she reached the bend in the staircase, where 
 the tall clock stood, that she looked over the balus- 
 trade and saw Dan in the hall below with the white 
 rose in his hand. 
 
 She had come so softly that he had not heard her 
 step. The light from the candelabra was full upon 
 him, and she saw the half-tender, half-quizzical look 
 in his face. For an instant he held the white rose 
 beneath his eyes, then he carefully folded it in his 
 handkerchief and hid it in the pocket of his coat. 
 As he did so, he gave a queer little laugh and went 
 quickly back into the panelled parlour, while Betty 
 glowed like a flower in the darkened bend of the 
 staircase. 
 
 When they called her and she came down the 
 bright colour was still in her face, and her eyes were 
 shining happily under the swan's-down border of 
 
The Major's Christmas in 
 
 her hood. " This little lady isn't afraid of the cold," 
 said the Major, as he pinched her cheeks. " Why, 
 she's as warm as a toast, and, bless my soul, if I 
 were thirty years younger, I'd ride twenty miles to- 
 night to catch a glimpse of her in that bonny blue 
 hood. Ah, in my day, men were men, sir." 
 
 Dan, who had come back from escorting Miss 
 Lydia to the carriage, laughed and held out his 
 arms. 
 
 " Let me carry you, Betty ; I'll show grandpa 
 that there's still a man alive." 
 
 " No, sir, no," said Betty, as she stood on tiptoe 
 and held her cheek to the Major. " You haven't a 
 chance when your grandfather's by. There, I'll let 
 you carry the sleeping draught for Aunt Pussy; 
 but my flounces, no, never ! " and she ran past him 
 and slipped into the carriage beside Mrs. Ambler 
 and Miss Lydia. 
 
 In a moment Virginia came out under an umbrella 
 that was held by Jack Morson, and the carriage 
 rolled slowly along the drive, while the young 
 men stood, bareheaded, in the falling snow. 
 
 " Keep a brave heart, Morson," said Champe, with 
 a laugh, as he ran back into the house, where the 
 Major waited to bar the door, " remember, you've 
 known her but three hours, and stand it like a man. 
 Well I'm off to bed," and he lighted his candle and, 
 with a gay " good night," went whistling up the 
 stair. 
 
 In Dan's bedroom, where he had crowded for the 
 holidays, he found his cousin, upon the hearth-rug, 
 looking abstractedly into the flames. 
 
 As Champe entered he turned, with the poker in 
 
112 The Battle-Ground 
 
 his hand, and spoke out of the fulness of his 
 heart : — 
 
 " She's a beauty, I declare she is." 
 
 Champe broke short his whistling, and threw off 
 his coat. 
 
 " Well, I dare say she was fifty years ago," he re- 
 joined gravely. 
 
 " Oh, don't be an utter ass ; you know I mean 
 Virginia." 
 
 " My dear boy, I had supposed Miss Lydia to 
 be the object of your attentions. You mustn't be 
 a Don Juan, you know, you really mustn't. Spare 
 the sex, I entreat." 
 
 Dan aimed a blow at him with a boot that was 
 lying on the rug. " Shut up, won't you," he 
 growled. 
 
 " Well, Virginia is a beauty," was Champe's ami- 
 able response. " Jack Morson swears Aunt Emme- 
 line's picture can't touch her. He's writing to his 
 father now, I don't doubt, to say he can't live with- 
 out her. Go down, and he'll read you the letter." 
 
 Dan's face grew black. " I'll thank him to mind 
 his own business," he grumbled. 
 
 " Oh, he thinks he's doing it." 
 
 " Well, his business isn't either of the Ambler 
 girls, and I'll have him to know it. What right has 
 he got, I'd like to know, to come up here and fall 
 in love with our neighbours." 
 
 " Oh, Beau, Beau ! Why, it was only last week 
 you ran him away from Batt Horsford's daughter. 
 Are you going in for a general championship ? " 
 
 " The devil ! Sally Horsford's a handsome girl, 
 and a good girl, too; and I'll fight any man who 
 
The Major's Christmas 113 
 
 says she isn't. By George, a woman's a woman, if 
 she is a stableman's daughter ! " 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried Champe, with a whistle, " there 
 spoke the Lightfoot." 
 
 " She's a good girl," repeated Dan, furiously, 
 as he flung the other boot at his cousin. Champe 
 caught the boot, and carefully set it beside the door. 
 " Well, she's welcome to be, as far as I'm con- 
 cerned," he replied calmly. " Turn not your speak- 
 ing eye upon me. I harbour no dark intent, Sir 
 Galahad." 
 
 " Damn Sir Galahad ! " said Dan, and blew out 
 the light. 
 
II 
 
 BETTY DREAMS BY THE FIRE 
 
 Betty, lying back in the deep old carriage as ii 
 rolled through the storm, felt a glow at her heart 
 as if a lamp were burning there, shut in from the 
 night. Above the wind and the groaning of the 
 wheels, she heard Hosea calling to the horses, but 
 the sound reached her through muffled ears. 
 
 " Git along dar ! " cried Hosea, with sudden spirit, 
 " dar ain' no oats dis side er home, en dar am' 
 no co'n, nurr. Git along dar! 'Tain' no use 
 a-mincin'. Git along dar ! " 
 
 The snow beat softly on the windows, and the 
 Governor's profile was relieved, fine and straight, 
 against the frosted glass. " Are you asleep, 
 daughter?" he asked, turning to where the girl lay 
 in her dark corner. 
 
 " Asleep ! " She came back with a start, and 
 caught his hand above the robe in her demon- 
 strative way. " Why, who can sleep on Christmas 
 Eve? there's too much to do, isn't there, mamma? 
 Twenty stockings to fill and I don't know how 
 many bundles to tie up. Oh, no, I shan't sleep to- 
 night." 
 
 " We might get up early to-morrow and do them," 
 suggested Virginia, nodding in her pink hood. 
 
 "4 
 
Betty Dreams by the Fire 115 
 
 " You, at least, must go to bed, dear," insisted 
 Mrs. Ambler. " Betty and I will fix the things." 
 
 " Indeed, you shall go to bed, mamma," said Betty, 
 sternly. " Papa and I shall make Christmas this 
 year. You'll help me, won't you, papa ? " 
 
 " Well, my dear, I don't see how I can help my- 
 self," returned the Governor ; " I wasn't born to 
 be the father of a Betty for nothing." 
 
 " Get along dar ! " sang out Hosea again. ' 'Tain' 
 no use a-mincin', gemmun. Dar ain' no fiddlin' 
 roun'. Git along dar ! " 
 
 Miss Lydia had fallen asleep, with her head on 
 her breast, but the sound aroused her, and she 
 opened her eyes and sat up very straight. 
 
 " Why, I declare I'd almost dropped off," she 
 said. " Are we nearly there, Peyton ? " 
 
 " I think so," replied the Governor, " but the 
 snow's so thick I can't see ; " he opened the window 
 and put out his head. " Are we nearly there, 
 Hosea?" 
 
 " We des done pas' de clump er cedars, suh," 
 yelled Hosea through the storm. " I'ud a knowd 
 'em ef dey'd come a-struttin' down de road — dey 
 cyarn fool me. Den we got ter pas' de wil' cher'y 
 and de gap in de fence, en dar we are." 
 
 " Yes, we're nearly there," said the Governor, as 
 he drew in his head, and Miss Lydia slept again 
 until the carriage turned into the drive and stopped 
 before the portico. 
 
 Uncle Shadrach, in the open doorway, was grin- 
 ning with delight. " Ef'n de snow had er kep' you, 
 dar 'ouldn't a been no Christmas for de res' er us," 
 he declared. 
 
n6 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " Oh, the snow couldn't keep us, Shadrach," 
 returned the Governor, as he gave him his over- 
 coat, and set himself to unfastening his wife's 
 wraps. " We were too anxious to get home. 
 There, Julia, you go to bed, and leave Betty 
 and myself to manage things. Don't say I can't 
 do it. I tell you I've been Governor of Virginia, 
 and I'll not be daunted by an empty stocking. 
 Now go away, and you, too, Virginia — you're 
 as sleepy as a kitten. Miss Lydia, shall I take 
 Mrs. Lightfoot's mixture to Miss Pussy, or will 
 you?" 
 
 Miss Lydia took the pitcher, and Betty put her 
 arm about her mother and led her upstairs, holding 
 her hand and kissing it as she went. She was al- 
 ways lavish with little ways of love, but to-night 
 she felt tenderer than ever — she felt that she should 
 like to take the world in her arms and hold it to her 
 bosom. " Dearest, sweetest," she said, and her voice 
 was full and tremulous, though still with its crisp 
 brightness of tone. It was as if she caressed with 
 her whole being, with those hidden possibilities 
 of passion which troubled her yet, only as the vibra- 
 tion of strong music, making her joy pensive and 
 her sadness sweet. She felt that she was walking 
 in a pleasant and vivid dream ; she was happy, she 
 could not tell why; nor could she tell why she 
 was sorrowful. 
 
 In Mrs. Ambler's room they found Mammy 
 Riah, awaiting her mistress's return. 
 
 " Put her to bed, Mammy," she said ; " she is 
 all chilled by the drive," and she gave her mother 
 over to the old negress, and ran down again to the 
 
Betty Dreams by the Fire 117 
 
 dining room, where the Governor was standing 
 surrounded by the Christmas litter. 
 
 " Do you expect to straighten out all these things, 
 daughter ? " he asked hopelessly. 
 
 " Why, there's hardly anything left to do," 
 was Betty's cheerful assurance. " You just sit 
 down at the table and put the nuts into the toes 
 of those stockings, and I'll count out these print 
 frocks." 
 
 The Governor obediently sat down and went to 
 work. " I am moved to offer thanks that we are not 
 as the beasts that have four legs," he remarked 
 thoughtfully. " I shouldn't care to fill stockings for 
 quadrupeds, Betty." 
 
 " Why, you goose, there's only one stocking for 
 each child." 
 
 " Ah, but with four feet our expectations might 
 be doubled," suggested the Governor. " You can't 
 convince me that it isn't a merciful providence, my 
 dear." 
 
 When the stockings were rilled and the packages 
 neatly tied up and separated, Uncle Shadrach came 
 with a hamper, and Betty went out to the kitchen to 
 prepare for the morning gathering of the field hands 
 and their families. Returning after the work was 
 over, she lingered a moment in the path to the 
 house, looking far across the white country. The 
 snow had ceased, and a single star was shining, 
 through a rift in the scudding clouds, straight 
 overhead. From the northwest the wind blew hard, 
 and the fleecy covering on the ground was fast 
 freezing a foot deep in ice. With a shiver she drew 
 her cloak about her and ran indoors and upstairs 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 6 
 
n8 The Battle-Ground 
 
 to where Virginia lay asleep in the high, white 
 bed. 
 
 In the great brick fireplace the logs had fallen 
 apart, and she softly pushed them together again as 
 she threw on a knot of resinous pine. The blaze 
 shot up quickly, and blowing out the candle upon 
 the bureau, she undressed by the firelight, crooning 
 gently as she did so in a voice that was lower than 
 the singing flames. With the glow on her bared 
 arms and her hair unbound upon her shoulders, she 
 sat close against the chimney; and while Virginia 
 slept in the tester bed, went dreaming out into the 
 night. 
 
 At first her dreams went back into her childhood, 
 and somehow, she knew not why, she could not 
 bring back her childhood but Dan came with it. She 
 fancied herself in all kinds of impossible places, 
 but she had no sooner got safely into them than she 
 looked up and Dan was there before her, standing 
 very still and laughing at her with his eyes. It 
 was the same thing even when she was a baby. Her 
 earliest memory was of a May morning when they 
 took her out into a field of buttercups, and told 
 her that she might pluck her arms full if she could, 
 and then, as she stretched out her little hands and 
 began to gather very fast, she looked across to where 
 the waving yellow buttercups stood up against the 
 blue spring sky. That memory had always been 
 her own before; but now, when she went back 
 to it, she knew that all the time she had been 
 gathering buttercups for Dan. And she had plucked 
 faster and faster only that she might have a bigger 
 bunch for him when the gathering was done. She 
 
Betty Dreams by the Fire 119 
 
 saw herself working bonnetless in the sunshine, 
 her baby face red, her lips breathless, working 
 so hard, she did not know for whom. Oh, how 
 funny that he should have been somewhere all the 
 time! 
 
 And again on the day when they gave her her 
 first doll, and she let it fall and cried her heart out 
 over its broken pink face. She knew, at last, that 
 somewhere in that ugly town Dan had dropped his 
 toy; and it was for that she was crying, not for her 
 own poor doll. Yes, all her life she had had two 
 griefs to weep for, and two joys to be glad over. 
 She had been really a double self from her babyhood 
 up — from her babyhood up! It had been always 
 up, up, up — like a lark that rises to the sun. She 
 had all her life been rising to the sun, and she was 
 warmed at last. 
 
 Then she asked herself if it were happiness, after 
 all, this new restlessness of hers. The melancholy 
 of the early spring was there — the roving impulse 
 that comes on April afternoons when the first buds 
 are on the trees and the air is keen with the smell 
 of the newly turned earth. She felt that it was 
 time for the spring to come again; she wanted to 
 walk alone in the woods and to watch the swallows 
 flying from the north. And again she wanted only 
 to lie close upon the hearth and to hear the flames 
 leap up the chimney. One of her selves cried to 
 be up and roaming; the other to turn over on the 
 rug and sleep again. 
 
 But gradually her thoughts returned to him, and 
 she went over, bit by bit, what he had said last even- 
 ing, asking herself if he had meant much at this 
 
no The Battle-Ground 
 
 time, or little at another. It seemed to her that 
 she found new meanings now in things that she had 
 once overlooked. She read words in his eyes which 
 he had never spoken ; and, one by one, she brought 
 back each sentence, each look, each gesture, hold- 
 ing it up to her remembrance, and laying it aside 
 to give place to the next. Oh, there were so many, 
 so many! 
 
 And then from the past her dreams went groping 
 out into the future, becoming dimmer, and shaping 
 themselves into unreal forms. Scattered visions 
 came drifting through her mind, — of herself in ro- 
 mantic adventures, and of Dan — always of Dan — 
 appearing like the prince in the fairy tale, 
 at the perilous moment. She saw herself 
 on the breast of a great river, borne, while 
 she stretched her hands at a white rose-bush 
 blooming in the clouds, to a cataract which she 
 could not see, though she heard its thunder far 
 ahead. She tried to call, but no sound came, for 
 the water filled her mouth. The river went on and 
 on, and the falling of the cataract was in her ears, 
 when she felt Dan's arm about her, and saw his eyes 
 laughing at her above the waters. 
 
 " Betty ! " called Virginia, suddenly, rising on 
 her elbow and rubbing her eyes. " Betty, is it 
 morning ? " 
 
 Betty awoke with a cry, and stood up in the fire- 
 light. 
 
 " Oh, no, not yet," she answered. 
 
 "What are you doing? Aren't you coming to 
 bed?" 
 
 "I — I was just thinking," stammered Betty, 
 
Betty Dreams by the Fire iai 
 
 twisting her hair into a rope ; " yes, I'm coming 
 now," and she crossed the room and climbed into 
 the bed beside her sister. 
 
 " I believe I fell asleep by the fire," she said, as 
 she turned over. 
 
Ill 
 
 DAN AND BETTY 
 
 On the last day of the year the young men from 
 Chericoke, as they rode down the turnpike, came 
 upon Betty bringing holly berries from the wood. 
 She was followed by two small negroes laden with 
 branches, and beside her ran her young setters, 
 Peyton and Bill. 
 
 As Dan came up with her, he checked his horse 
 and swung himself to the ground. " Thank God 
 I've passed the boundary ! " he exclaimed over his 
 shoulder to the others. " Ride on, my lads, ride on ! 
 Don't prate of the claims of hospitality to me. My 
 foot is on my neighbours' heath; I'm host to no 
 man." 
 
 " Come, now, Beau," remonstrated Jack Morson, 
 looking down from his saddle ; " I see in Miss 
 Betty's eyes that she wants me to carry that holly 
 — I swear I do." 
 
 " Then you see more than is written," declared 
 Champe, from the other side, " for it's as plain as 
 day that one eye says Diggs and one Lightfoot — 
 isn't it, Betty?" 
 
 Betty looked up, laughing. " If you are so 
 skilled in foreign tongues, what can I answer ? " 
 she asked. " Only that I've been a mile after 
 this holly for the party to-night, and I 
 
 122 
 
Dan and Betty 123 
 
 wouldn't trust it to all of you together — for 
 worlds." 
 
 " Oh, go on, go on," said Dan, impatiently. 
 " doesn't that mean that she'll trust it to me alone? 
 Good morning, my boys, God be with you," and he 
 led Prince Rupert aside while the rest rode by. 
 
 When they were out of sight he turned to one of 
 the small negroes, his hand on the bridle. " Shall 
 we exchange burdens, O eater of 'possums?" he 
 asked blandly. " Will you permit me to tote your 
 load, while you lead my horse to the house? You 
 aren't afraid of him. are you?" 
 
 The little negro grinned. " He do look moughty 
 glum, suh," he replied, half fearfully. 
 
 " Glum ! Why, the amiability in that horse's face 
 is enough to draw tears. Come up, Prince Ru- 
 pert, your highness is to go ahead of me; it's to 
 oblige a lady, you know." 
 
 Then, as Prince Rupert was led away, Dan looked 
 at Betty. 
 
 " Shall it be the turnpike or the meadow path ? " 
 he inquired, with the gay deference he used toward 
 women, as if a word might turn it to a jest or a look 
 might make it earnest. 
 
 " The meadow, but not the path," replied the 
 girl ; " the path is asleep under the snow." She cast 
 a happy glance over the white landscape, down the 
 long turnpike, and across the broad meadow where 
 a cedar tree waved like a snowy plume. " Jake, we 
 must climb the wall," she added to the negro boy, 
 " be careful about the berries." 
 
 Dan threw his holly into the meadow and lifted 
 Betty upon the stone wall. " Now wait a moment," 
 
124 The Battle-Ground 
 
 he cautioned, as he went over. " Don't move till I 
 tell you. I'm managing this job — thene, now 
 jump!" 
 
 He caught her hands and set her on her feet be- 
 side him. " Take your fence, my beauties/' he called 
 gayly to the dogs, as they came bounding across 
 the turnpike. 
 
 Betty straightened her cap and took up her 
 berries. 
 
 " Your tender mercies are rather cruel," she com- 
 plained, as she did so. " Even my hair is un- 
 done." 
 
 " Oh, it's all the better," returned Dan, without 
 looking at her. " I don't see why girls make them- 
 selves so smooth, anyway. That's what I like about 
 you, you know — you've always got a screw loose 
 somewhere." 
 
 " But I haven't," cried Betty, stopping in the 
 snow. 
 
 " What ! if I find a curl where it oughtn't to be, 
 may I have it ? " 
 
 " Of course not," she answered indignantly. 
 
 " Well, there's one hanging over your ear now. 
 Shall I put it straight with this piece of holly ? My 
 hands are full, but I think I might manage it." 
 
 " Don't touch me with your holly ! " exclaimed 
 Betty, walking faster ; then in a moment she turned 
 and stood calling to the dogs. " Have you noticed 
 what beauties Bill and Peyton have grown to be ? " 
 she questioned pleasantly. " There weren't any 
 boys to be named after papa and Uncle Bill, so I 
 called the dogs after them, you know. Papa says he 
 would rather have had a son named Peyton ; but I 
 
Dan and Betty 125 
 
 tell him the son might have been wicked and 
 brought his hairs in sorrow to the grave." 
 
 " Well, I dare say, you're right," he stopped with 
 a sweep of his hand, and stood looking to where a 
 flock of crows were flying over the dried spectres 
 of carrot flowers that stood up above the snow ; 
 "That's fine, now, isn't it?" he asked seriously. 
 
 Betty followed his gesture, then she gave a little 
 cry and threw her arms round the dogs. " The 
 poor crows are so hungry," she said. " No, no, 
 you mustn't chase them, Bill and Peyton, it isn't 
 right, you see. Here, Jake, come and hold the dogs, 
 while I feed the crows." She drew a handful of corn 
 from the pocket of her cloak, and flung it out into 
 the meadow. 
 
 " I always bring corn for them," she explained ; 
 " they get so hungry, and sometimes they starve to 
 death right out here. Papa says they are pernicious 
 birds ; but I don't care — do you mind their being 
 pernicious ? " 
 
 " I ? Not in the least. I assure you I trouble 
 myself very little about the morals of my associ- 
 ates. I'm not fond of crows ; but it is their voices 
 rather than their habits I object to. I can't stand 
 their eternal ' cawing ! ' — it drives me mad." 
 
 " I suppose foxes are pernicious beasts, also," 
 said Betty, as she walked on ; " but there's an old 
 red fox in the woods that I've been feeding for 
 years. I don't know anything that foxes like to eat 
 except chickens, but I carry him a basket of pota- 
 toes and turnips and bread, and pile them up under 
 a pine tree; it's just as well for him to acquire the 
 taste for them, isn't it ? " 
 
126 The Battle-Ground 
 
 She smiled at Dan above her fur tippet, and he 
 forgot her words in watching the animation come 
 and go in her face. He fell to musing over her de- 
 cisive little chin, the sensitive curves of her nostrils 
 and sweet wide mouth, and above all over her kind 
 yet ardent look, which gave the peculiar beauty 
 to her eyes. 
 
 " Ah, is there anything in heaven or earth that 
 you don't like ? " he asked, as he gazed at her. 
 
 " That I don't like ? Shall I really tell you ? " 
 
 He bent toward her over his armful of holly. 
 
 " I have a capacious breast for secrets," he assured 
 her. 
 
 " Then you will never breathe it ? " 
 
 " Will you have me swear ? " he glanced about 
 him. 
 
 " Not by the inconstant moon," she entreated 
 merrily. 
 
 " Well, by my ' gracious self ' ; what's the rest 
 of it?" 
 
 She coloured and drew away from him. His 
 eyes made her self-conscious, ill at ease ; the very 
 carelessness of his look disconcerted her. 
 
 " No, do not swear," she begged. " I shall trust 
 you with even so weighty a confidence. I do not: 
 like — " 
 
 " Oh, come, why torture me ? " he demanded. 
 
 She made a little gesture of alarm. " From fear 
 of the wrath to come," she admitted. 
 
 " Of my wrath ? " he regarded her with amaze- 
 ment. " Oh, don't you like me?" he exclaimed. 
 
 " You ! Yes, yes — but — have mercy upon your 
 petitioner. I do not like your cravats." 
 
Dan and Betty 127 
 
 She shut her eyes and stood before him with 
 lowered head. 
 
 " My cravats ! " cried Dan, in dismay, as his hand 
 went to his throat, " but my cravats are from Paris 
 — Charlie Morson brought them over. What is the 
 matter with them ? " 
 
 " They — they're too fancy," confessed Betty. 
 " Papa wears only white, or black ones you know." 
 
 " Too fancy ! Nonsense ! do you want to send 
 me back to grandfather's stocks, I wonder? It's just 
 pure envy — that's what it is. Never mind, I'll give 
 you the very best one I've got." 
 
 Betty shook her head. " And what should I do 
 with it, pray ? " she asked. " Uncle Shadrach 
 wouldn't wear it for worlds — he wears only papa's 
 clothes, you see. Oh, I might give it to Hosea ; but 
 I don't think he'd like it." 
 
 " Hosea ! Well, I declare," exclaimed Dan, and 
 was silent. 
 
 When he spoke a little later it uas somewhat 
 awkwardly. 
 
 " I say, did Virginia ever tell you she didn't like 
 my cravats? " he inquired. 
 
 " Virginia ! " her voice was a little startled. " Oh, 
 Virginia thinks they're lovely." 
 
 "And you don't?" 
 
 " No, I don't." 
 
 " Well, you are a case," he said, and walked on 
 slowly. 
 
 They were already in sight of the house, and he 
 did not speak again until they had passed the por- 
 tico and entered the hall. There they found Virginia 
 and the young men, who had ridden over ahead of 
 
128 The Battle-Ground 
 
 them, hanging evergreens for the approaching party. 
 Jack Morson, from the top of the step-ladder, was 
 suspending a holly wreath above the door, while 
 Champe was entwining the mahogany balustrade 
 in running cedar. 
 
 " Oh, Betty, would it be disrespectful to put mis- 
 tletoe above General Washington's portrait? " called 
 Virginia, as they went into the hall. 
 
 " I don't think he'd mind — the old dear," an- 
 swered Betty, throwing her armful of holly upon 
 the floor. " There, Dan, the burden of the day is 
 over." 
 
 " And none too soon," said Dan, as he tossed the 
 holly from him. " Diggs, you sluggard, what are 
 you sitting there in idleness for? Miss Pussy, can't 
 you set him to work ? " 
 
 Miss Pussy, who was bustling in and out with a 
 troop of servants at her heels, found time to reply 
 seriously that she really didn't think there was any- 
 thing she could trust him with. " Of course, I 
 don't mind your amusing yourselves with the dec- 
 orations," she added briskly, " but the cooking is 
 quite a different thing, you know." 
 
 " Amusing myself ! " protested Dan, in aston- 
 ishment. " My dear lady, do you call carrying a 
 wagon load of brushwood amusement? Now, I'll 
 grant, if you please, that Morson is amusing himself 
 on the step-ladder." 
 
 "Keep off," implored Morson, in terror ; " if you 
 shake the thing, I'm gone, I declare I am." 
 
 He nailed the garland in place and came down 
 cautiously. " Now, that's what I call an artistic 
 job," he complacently remarked. 
 
Dan and Betty 129 
 
 " Why, it's lovely," said Virginia, smiling, as he 
 turned to her. " It's lovely, isn't it, Betty ? " 
 
 " As lovely as a crooked thing can be," laughed 
 Betty. She was looking earnestly at Virginia, 
 and wondering if she really liked Jack Morson 
 so very much. The girl was so bewitching in 
 her red dress, with the flush of a sudden emo- 
 tion in her face, and the shyness in her down- 
 cast eyes. 
 
 " Oh, that isn't fair, Virginia," called Champe 
 from the steps. " Save your favour for the man 
 that deserves it — and look at me." Virginia did 
 look at him, sending him the same radiant glance. 
 
 " But I've many ' lovelies ' left," she said quickly ; 
 " it's my favourite word." 
 
 " A most appropriate taste," faltered Diggs, from 
 his chair beneath the hall clock. 
 
 Champe descended the staircase with a bound. 
 
 "What do I hear?" he exclaimed. "Has the 
 oyster opened his mouth and brought forth a compli- 
 ment?" 
 
 " Oh, be quiet," commanded Dan, " I shan't hear 
 Diggs made fun of, and it's time to get back, any- 
 way. Well, loveliest of lovely ladies, you must put 
 on your prettiest frock to-night." 
 
 Virginia's blush deepened. Did she like Dan so 
 very much? thought Betty. 
 
 " But you mustn't notice me, please," she begged, 
 " all the neighbours are coming, and there are so 
 many girls, — the Powells and the Harrisons and 
 the Dulaneys. I am going to wear pink, but you 
 mustn't notice it, you know." 
 
 " That's right," said Jack Morson, " make him 
 
130 The Battle-Ground 
 
 do his duty by the County, and keep your dances 
 for Diggs and me." 
 
 " I've done my duty by you, sir," was Dan's 
 prompt retort, " so I'll begin to do my pleasure by 
 myself. Now I give you fair warning, Virginia, 
 if you don't save the first reel for me, I'll dance all 
 the rest with Betty." 
 
 " Then it will be a Betty of your own making," 
 declared Betty over her shoulder, " for this Betty 
 doesn't dance a single step with you to-night, so 
 there, sir." 
 
 " Your punishment be on your own head, rash' 
 woman," said Dan, sternly, as he took up his riding- 
 whip. " I'll dance with Peggy Harrison," and he 
 went out to Prince Rupert, lifting his hat, as he 
 mounted, to Miss Lydia, who stood at her win- 
 dow above. A moment later they heard his 
 horse's hoofs ringing in the drive, and his voice 
 gayly whistling : — 
 
 " They tell me thou'rt the favor'd guest." 
 
 When the others joined him in the turnpike, the 
 four voices took up the air, and sent the pathetic 
 melody fairly dancing across the snow. 
 
 " Do I thus haste to hall and bower 
 Among the proud and gay to shine ? 
 Or deck my hair with gem and flower 
 
 To flatter other eyes than thine? 
 Ah, no, with me love's smiles are past; 
 Thou hadst the first, thou hadst the last." 
 
 The song ended in a burst of laughter, and up 
 the white turnpike, beneath the melting snow that 
 
Dan and Betty 131 
 
 rained down from the trees, they rode merrily back 
 to Chericoke. 
 
 In the carriage way they found the Major, 
 wrapped in his broadcloth cape, taking what he 
 called a " breath of air." 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, I hope you had a pleasant 
 ride," he remarked, following them into the house. 
 " You didn't see your way to stop by Uplands, I 
 reckon ? " 
 
 " That we did, sir," said Diggs, who was never 
 bashful with the Major. " In fact, we made our- 
 selves rather useful, I believe." 
 
 " They're charming young ladies over there, 
 eh?" inquired the Major, genially; and a little 
 later when Dan and he were alone, he put the 
 same question to his grandson. " They're de- 
 lightful girls, are they not, my boy ? " he ven- 
 tured incautiously. " You have noticed, I dare 
 say, how your grandmother takes to Betty — and 
 she's not a woman of many fancies, is your grand- 
 mother." 
 
 " Oh, but Virginia ! " exclaimed Dan, with en- 
 thusiasm. " I wish you could have seen her in her 
 red dress to-day. You don't half realize what a 
 thundering beauty that girl is. Why, she positively 
 took my breath away." 
 
 The Major chuckled and rubbed his hands to- 
 gether. 
 
 " I don't, eh ? " he said, scenting a romance as an 
 old war horse scents a battle. " Well, well, maybe 
 not; but I see where the wind blows anyway, and 
 you have my congratulations on either hand. I 
 shan't deny that we old folks had a leaning to 
 
132 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Betty; but youth is youth, and we shan't oppose 
 your fancy. So I congratulate you, my boy, I con- 
 gratulate you." 
 
 " Ah, she wouldn't look at me, sir," declared 
 Dan, feeling that the pace was becoming a little 
 too impetuous. " I only wish she would ; but 
 I'd as soon expect the moon to drop from the 
 skies." 
 
 " Not look at you ! Pooh, pooh ! " protested the 
 old gentleman, indignantly. " Proper pride is not 
 vanity, sir; and there's never been a Lightfoot yet 
 that couldn't catch a woman's eye, if I do say it 
 who should not. Pooh, pooh ! it isn't a faint heart 
 that wins the ladies." 
 
 " I know you to be an authority, my dear grand- 
 pa," admitted the young man, lightly glancing into 
 the gilt-framed mirror above the mantel. " If 
 there's any of your blood in me, it makes for con- 
 quest." From the glass he caught the laughter in 
 his eyes and turned it on his grandfather. 
 
 " It ill becomes me to rob the Lightfoots of one 
 of their chief distinctions," said the Major, smiling 
 in his turn. " We are not a proud people, my boy ; 
 but we've always fought like men and made love 
 like gentlemen, and I hope that you will live up 
 to your inheritance." 
 
 Then, as his grandson ran upstairs to dress, he 
 followed him as far as Mrs. Lightfoot's chamber, 
 and informed her with a touch of pomposity : " That 
 it was Virginia, not Betty, after all. But we'll 
 make the best of it, my dear," he added cheerfully. 
 " Either of the Ambler girls is a jewel of priceless 
 value." 
 
Dan and Betty 133 
 
 The little old lady received this flower of speech 
 with more than ordinary unconcern. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Lightfoot, that 
 the boy has begun already ? " she demanded, in 
 amazement. 
 
 " He doesn't say so," replied the Major, with 
 a chuckle ; " but I see what he means — I see what 
 he means. Why, he told me he wished I could have 
 seen her to-day in her red dress — and, bless my 
 soul, I wish I could, ma'am." 
 
 " I don't see what good it would do you," returned 
 his wife, coolly. " But did he have the face to 
 tell you he was in love with the girl, Mr. Light- 
 foot?" 
 
 "Have the face?" repeated the Major, testily. 
 " Pray, why shouldn't he have the face, ma'am ? 
 Whom should he tell, I'd like to know, before he 
 tells his grandfather?" and with a final "pooh, 
 pooh ! " he returned angrily to his library and to 
 the Richmond Whig, a paper he breathlessly read 
 and mightily abused. 
 
 Dan, meanwhile, upstairs in his room with 
 Champe, was busily sorting his collection of neck- 
 wear. 
 
 " Look here, Champe, I'll give you all these red 
 ties, if you want them," he generously concluded. 
 " I believe, after all, I'll take to wearing white or 
 black ones again." 
 
 " What ? " asked Champe, in astonishment, turn- 
 ing on his heel. " Have the skies fallen, or does 
 Beau Montjoy forsake the fashions?" 
 
 "Confound the fashions!" retorted Dan, impa- 
 tiently. " I don't care a jot for the fashions. You 
 
134 The Battle-Ground 
 
 may have all these, if you choose," and he tossed 
 the neckties upon the bed. 
 
 Champe picked up one and examined it with 
 interest. 
 
 " O woman," he murmured as he did so, " your 
 hand is small but mighty." 
 
IV 
 
 LOVE IN A MAZE 
 
 Despite Virginia's endeavour to efface herself for 
 her guests, she shone unrivalled at the party, and 
 Dan, who had held her hand for an ecstatic moment 
 under the mistletoe, felt, as he rode home in the 
 moonlight afterwards, that his head was fairly on 
 fire with her beauty. She had been sweetly candid 
 and flatteringly impartial. He could not honestly 
 assert that she had danced with him oftener than 
 with Morson, or a dozen others, but he had a pleas- 
 ant feeling that even when she shook her head and 
 said, " I cannot," her soft eyes added for her, 
 " though I really wish to.'' There was something 
 almost pitiable, he told himself in the complacency 
 with which that self-satisfied ass Morson would 
 come and take her from him. As if he hadn't sense 
 enough to discover that it was merely because she 
 was his hostess that she went with him at all. But 
 some men would never understand women, though 
 they lived to be a thousand, and got rejected once a 
 day. 
 
 Out in the moonlight, with the Governor's wine 
 singing in his blood, he found that his emotions had 
 a way of tripping lightly off his tongue. There were 
 hot words with Diggs, who hinted that Virginia was 
 not the beauty of the century, and threats of blows 
 
 *35 
 
136 The Battle-Ground 
 
 with Morson, who too boldly affirmed that she was. 
 In the end Champe rode between them, and sent 
 Prince Rupert on his way with a touch of the whip. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, keep your twaddle to your- 
 selves ! " he exclaimed impatiently, " or take my ad- 
 vice, and make for the nearest duck pond. You've 
 both gone over your depth in the Governor's Ma- 
 deira, and I advise you to keep quiet until you've 
 had your heads in a basin of ice water. There, get 
 out of my road, Morson. I can't sit here freezing 
 all night." 
 
 "Do you dare to imply that I am drunk, sir?" 
 demanded Morson, in a fury. " Bear witness, gen- 
 tlemen, that the insult was unprovoked." 
 
 " Oh, insult be damned ! " retorted Champe. " If 
 you shake your fist at me again, I'll pitch you head 
 over heels into that snowdrift." 
 
 "Pitch whom, sir?" roared Morson, riding at 
 the wall, when Diggs caught his bridle and roughly 
 dragged him back. 
 
 " Come, now, don't make a beast of yourself," he 
 implored. 
 
 " Who's a beast ? " was promptly put by Morson ; 
 but leaving it unanswered, Diggs wheeled his horse 
 about and started up the turnpike. " You've let 
 Beau get out of sight," he said. " We'd better catch 
 up with him," and he set off at a gallop. 
 
 Dan, who had ridden on at Champe's first words, 
 did not even turn his head when the three came 
 abreast with him. The moonlight was in his eyes, 
 and the vision of Virginia floated before him at his 
 saddle bow. He let the reins fall loosely on Prince 
 Rupert's neck, and as the hoofs rang on the frozen 
 
Love in a Maze 137 
 
 road, thrust his hands for warmth into his coat. In 
 another dress, with his dark hair blown backward 
 in the wind, he might have been a cavalier fresh 
 from the service of his lady or his king, or riding 
 carelessly to his death for the sake of the drunken 
 young Pretender. 
 
 But he was only following his dreams, and they 
 hovered round Virginia, catching their rosy glamour 
 from her dress. In the cold night air he saw her 
 walking demurely through the lancers, her skirt held 
 up above her satin shoes, her coral necklace glowing 
 deeper pink against her slim white throat. Mistle- 
 toe and holly hung over her, and the light of the 
 candles shone brighter where her radiant figure 
 passed. He caught the soft flash of her shy brown 
 eyes, he heard her gentle voice speaking trivial 
 things with profound tenderness. His hand still 
 burned from the light pressure of her finger tips. 
 Oh, his day had come, he told himself, and he was 
 furiously in love at last. 
 
 As for going back to college, the very idea was 
 absurd. At twenty years it was quite time for him 
 to settle down and keep open house like other men. 
 Virginia, in rose pink, flitted up the crooked stair 
 and across the white panels of the parlor, and with 
 a leap, his heart went after her. He saw Great-aunt 
 Emmeline lean down from her faded canvas as if to 
 toss her apple at the young girl's feet. Ah, poor old 
 beauty, hanging in a gilded frame, what was her 
 century of dust to a bit of living flesh that had 
 bright eyes and was coloured like a flower? 
 
 When he was safely married he would have his 
 wife's portrait hung upon the opposite wall, only he 
 
138 The Battle-Ground 
 
 rather thought he should have the dogs in and le€ 
 her be Diana, with a spear instead of an apple in 
 her hand. Two beauties in one family — that was 
 something to be proud of even in Virginia. 
 
 It was at this romantic point that Champe shat- 
 tered his visions by shooting a jest at him about the 
 " love sick swain." 
 
 " Oh, be off, and let a fellow think, won't you ? " 
 he retorted angrily. 
 
 "Do you hear him call it thinking?" jeered 
 Diggs, from the other side. 
 
 " He doesn't call it mooning, oh, no," scoffed 
 Champe. 
 
 " Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life," sang 
 Morson, striking an attitude that almost threw him 
 off his horse. 
 
 " Shut up, Morson," commanded Diggs, " you 
 ought to be thankful if you had enough sense left to 
 moon with." 
 
 " Sense, who wants sense ? " inquired Morson, 
 on the point of tears. " I have heart, sir." 
 
 " Then keep it bottled up," rejoined Champe, 
 coolly, as they turned into the drive at Chericoke. 
 
 In Dan's room they found Big Abel stretched be- 
 fore the fire asleep ; and as the young men came in, 
 he sat up and rubbed his eyes. 
 
 " Hi ! young Marsters, hit's ter-morrow ! " he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " To-morrow ! I wish it were to-morrow," re- 
 sponded Dan, cheerfully. " The fire makes my head 
 spin like a top. Here, come and pull off my coat, 
 Big Abel, or I'll have to go to bed with my clothes 
 on. 
 
Love in a Maze 139 
 
 Big Abel pulled off the coat and brushed it care- 
 fully ; then he held out his hand for Champe's. 
 
 " I hope dis yer coat ain' gwine lose hit's set 'fo' 
 hit gits ter me," he muttered as he hung them up. 
 " Seems like you don' teck no cyar yo' clothes, no- 
 how, Marse Dan. I'se de wuss dress somebody dis 
 yer side er de po' w'ite trash. Wat's de use er bein' 
 de quality ef'n you ain' got de close? " 
 
 " Stop grumbling, you fool you," returned Dan, 
 with his lordly air. "If it's my second best evening 
 suit you're after, you may take it; but I tell you 
 now, it's the last thing you're going to get out of me 
 till summer." 
 
 Big Abel took down the second best suit of clothes 
 and examined them with an interest they had never 
 inspired before. " I d'clar you sutney does set 
 hard," he remarked after a moment, and added, ten- 
 tatively, " I dunno whar de shuts gwine come f'om." 
 
 " Not from me," replied Dan, airily ; " and now 
 get out of here, for I'm going to sleep." 
 
 But when he threw himself upon his bed it was to 
 toss with feverish rose-coloured dreams until the 
 daybreak. 
 
 His blood was still warm when he came down to 
 breakfast; but he met his grandfather's genial jests 
 with a boyish attempt at counter-buff. 
 
 " Oh, you needn't twit me, sir," he said with an 
 embarrassed laugh ; " to wear the heart upon the 
 sleeve is hereditary with us, you know." 
 
 " Keep clear of the daws, my son, and it does no 
 harm," responded the Major. " There's nothing so 
 becoming to a gentleman as a fine heart well worn, 
 eh, Molly?" 
 
140 The Battle-Ground 
 
 He carefully spread the butter upon his calces, 
 for his day of love-making was over, and his eye 
 could hold its twinkle while he watched Dan fidget 
 in his seat. 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot promptly took up the challenge. 
 " For my part I prefer one under a buttoned coat," 
 she replied briskly ; " but be careful, Mr. Lightfoot, 
 or you will put notions into the boys' heads. They 
 are at the age when a man has a fancy a day and gets 
 over it before he knows it." 
 
 " They are at the age when I had my fancy for 
 you, Molly," gallantly retorted the Major, "and I 
 seem to be carrying it with me to my grave." 
 
 "It would be a dull wit that would go roving from 
 Aunt Molly," said Champe, affectionately; "but 
 there aren't many of her kind in the world." 
 
 " I never found but one like her," admitted the 
 Major, " and I've seen a good deal in my day, sir." 
 
 The old lady listened with a smile, though she 
 spoke in a severe voice. " You mustn't let them 
 teach you how to flatter, Mr. Morson," she said 
 warningly, as she filled the Major's second cup of 
 coffee — " Cupid, Mr. Morson will have a par- 
 tridge." 
 
 " The man who sits at your table will never ques- 
 tion your supremacy, dear madam," returned Jack 
 Morson, as he helped himself to a bird. " There is 
 little merit in devotion to such bounty." 
 
 " Shall I kick him, grandma ? " demanded Dan. 
 " He means that we love you because you feed us, 
 the sly scamp." 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot shook her head reprovingly. 
 " Oh, I understand you, Mr. Morson," she said 
 
Love in a Maze 141 
 
 amiably, " and a compliment to my housekeeping 
 never goes amiss. If a woman has any talent, it will 
 come out upon her table." 
 
 " You're right, Molly, you're right," agreed the 
 Major, heartily. " I've always held that there was 
 nothing in a man who couldn't make a speech or in 
 a woman who couldn't set a table." 
 
 Dan stirred restlessly in his chair, and at the first 
 movement of Mrs. Lightfoot he rose and went out 
 into the hall. An hour later he ordered Prince 
 Rupert and started joyously to Uplands. 
 
 As he rode through the frosted air he pictured to 
 himself a dozen different ways in which it was pos- 
 sible that he might meet Virginia. Would she be 
 upon the portico or in the parlour ? Was she still in 
 pink or would she wear the red gown of yesterday? 
 When she gave him her hand would she smile as she 
 had smiled last night ? or would she stand demurely 
 grave with down dropped lashes? 
 
 The truth was that she did none of the things he 
 had half expected of her. She was sitting before a 
 log fire, surrounded by a group of Harrisons and 
 Powells, who had been prevailed upon to spend the 
 night, and when he entered she gave him a sleepy 
 little nod from the corner of a rosewood sofa. As 
 she lay back in the firelight she was like a drowsy 
 kitten that had just awakened from a nap. Though 
 less radiant, her beauty was more appealing, and as 
 she stared at him with her large eyes blinking, he 
 wanted to stoop down and rock her off to sleep. He 
 regarded her calmly this morning, for, with all his 
 tenderness, she did not fire his brain, and the glory 
 of the vision had passed away. Half angrily he 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 7 
 
142 The Battle-Ground 
 
 asked himself if he were in love with a pink dress 
 and nothing more? 
 
 An hour afterward he came noisily into the library 
 at Chericoke and aroused the Major from his Hor- 
 ace by stamping distractedly about the room. 
 
 " Oh, it's all up with me, sir," he began despond- 
 ently. " I might as well go out and hang myself. 
 I don't know what I want and yet I'm going mad 
 because I can't get it." 
 
 " Come, come," said the Major, soothingly. 
 " I've been through it myself, sir, and since your 
 grandmother's out of earshot, I'd as well con- 
 fess that I've been through it more than once. 
 Cheer up, cheer up, you aren't the first to dare the 
 venture — Fixer e fortes ante Agamemnona, you 
 know." 
 
 His assurance was hardly as comforting as he 
 had intended it to be. " Oh, I dare say, there've 
 been fools enough before me," returned Dan, im- 
 patiently, as he flung himself out of the room. 
 
 He grew still more impatient when the day came 
 for him to return to college ; and as they started out 
 on horseback, with Zeke and Big Abel riding behind 
 their masters, he declared irritably that the whole 
 system of education was a nuisance, and that he 
 " wished the ark had gone down with all the ancient 
 languages on board." 
 
 " There would still be law," suggested Morson, 
 pleasantly. " So cheer up, Beau, there's something 
 left for you to learn." 
 
 Then, as they passed Uplands, they turned, with 
 a single impulse, and cantered up the broad drive to 
 the portico. Betty and Virginia were in the library ; 
 
Love in a Maze 143 
 
 and as they heard the horses, they came running to 
 the window and threw it open. 
 
 " So you will come back in the summer — all of 
 you," said Virginia, hopefully, and as she leaned out 
 a white camellia fell from her bosom to the snow be- 
 neath. In an instant Jack Morson was off his horse 
 and the flower was in his hand. " We'll bring 
 back all that we take away," he answered gallantly, 
 his fair boyish face as red as Virginia's. 
 
 Dan could have kicked him for the words, but he 
 merely said savagely, " Have you left your pocket 
 handkerchief ? " and turned Prince Rupert toward 
 the road. When he looked back from beneath 
 the silver poplars, the girls were still standing 
 at the open window, the cold wind flushing their 
 cheeks and blowing the brown hair and the red 
 together. 
 
 Virginia was the first to turn away. " Come in, 
 you'll take cold," she said, going to the fire. 
 " f^ggy Harrison never goes out when the wind 
 blows, you know, she says it's dreadful for the com- 
 plexion. Once when she had to come back from 
 town on a March day, she told me she wore six 
 green veils. I wonder if that's the way she keeps 
 her lovely colour ? " 
 
 " Well, I wouldn't be Peggy Harrison," returned 
 Betty, gayly, and she added in the same tone, " so 
 Mr. Morson got your camellia, after all, didn't he? " 
 
 " Oh, he begged so hard with his eyes," answered 
 Virginia. " He had seen me give Dan a white rose 
 on Christmas Eve, you know, and he said it wasn't 
 fair to be so unfair." 
 
 " You gave Dan a white rose ? " repeated Betty, 
 
144 The Battle-Ground 
 
 slowly. Her face was pale, but she was smiling 
 brightly. 
 
 Virginia's soft little laugh pealed out. " And it 
 was your rose, too, darling," she said, nestling to 
 Betty like a child. " You dropped it on the stair 
 and I picked it up. I was just going to take it to 
 you because it looked so lovely in your hair, when 
 Dan came along and he would have it, whether or 
 no. But you don't mind, do you, just a little bit 
 of white rosebud ? " She put up her hand and 
 stroked her sister's cheek. " Men are so silly, aren't 
 they ? " she added with a sigh. 
 
 For a moment Betty looked down upon the brown 
 head on her bosom; then she stooped and kissed 
 Virginia's brow. " Oh, no, I don't mind, dear," she 
 answered, " and women are very silly, too, some- 
 times." 
 
 She loosened Virginia's arms and went slowly 
 upstairs to her bedroom, where Petunia was replen- 
 ishing the fire. " You may go down, Petunia," she 
 said as she entered. " I am going to put my things 
 to rights, and I don't want you to bother me — go 
 straight downstairs." 
 
 " Is you gwine in yo' chist er draws ? " inquired 
 Petunia, pausing upon the threshold. 
 
 " Yes, I'm going into my chest of drawers, but 
 you're not," retorted Betty, sharply ; and when Pe- 
 tunia had gone out and closed the door after her, 
 she pulled out her things and began to straighten 
 rapidly, rolling up her ribbons with shaking fingers, 
 and carefully folding her clothes into compact 
 squares. Ever since her childhood she had always 
 begun to work at her chest of drawers when any 
 
Love in a Maze 145 
 
 sudden shock unnerved her. After a great happi- 
 ness she took up her trowel and dug among the 
 flowers of the garden; but when her heart was 
 heavy within her, she shut her door and put her 
 clothes to rights. 
 
 Now, as she worked rapidly, the tears welled 
 slowly to her lashes, but she brushed them angrily 
 away, and rolled up a sky-blue sash. She had worn 
 the sash at Chericoke on Christmas Eve, and as she 
 looked at it, she felt, with the keenness of pain, a 
 thrill of her old girlish happiness. The figure of 
 Dan, as he stood upon the threshold with the pow- 
 dering of snow upon his hair, rose suddenly to her 
 eyes, and she flinched before the careless humour of 
 his smile. It was her own fault, she told herself a 
 little bitterly, and because it was her own fault she 
 could bear it as she should have borne the joy. 
 There was nothing to cry over, nothing even to re- 
 gret ; she knew now that she loved him, and she 
 was glad — glad even of this. If the bitterness in 
 her heart was but the taste of knowledge, she would 
 not let it go; she would keep both the knowledge 
 and the bitterness. 
 
 In the next room Mammy Riah was rocking back 
 and forth upon the hearth, crooning to herself while 
 she carded a lapful of wool. Her cracked old voice, 
 still with its plaintive sweetness, came faintly to 
 the girl who leaned her cheek upon the sky-blue 
 sash and listened, half against her will : — 
 
 " Oh, we'll all be done wid trouble, by en bye, little chillun, 
 We'll all be done wid trouble, by en bye. 
 ,©h, we'll set en chatter wid de angels, by en bye, little chillun, 
 We'll set en chatter wid de angels, by en bye." 
 
146 The Battle-Ground 
 
 The door opened and Virginia came softly into 
 the room, and stopped short at the sight of Betty. 
 
 " Why, your things were perfectly straight, 
 Betty," she exclaimed in surprise. " I declare, 
 you'll be a real old maid." 
 
 " Perhaps I shall," replied Betty, indifferently ; 
 " but if I am, I'm going to be a tidy one." 
 
 " I never heard of one who wasn't," remarked 
 Virginia, and added, " you've put all your ribbons 
 into the wrong drawer." 
 
 " I like a change," said Betty, folding up a muslin 
 skirt. 
 
 " Oh, we'll slip en slide on de golden streets, by en bye, 
 little chillun, 
 We'll slip en slide on de golden streets, by en bye," 
 
 sang Mammy Riah, in the adjoining room. 
 
 " Aunt Lydia found six red pinks in bloom in 
 her window garden," observed Virginia, cheerfully. 
 " Why, where are you going, Betty ? " 
 
 " Just for a walk," answered Betty, as she put 
 on her bonnet and cloak. " I'm not afraid of the 
 cold, you know, and I'm so tired sitting still," and 
 she added, as she fastened her fur tippet, " I shan't 
 be long, dear." 
 
 She opened the door, and Mammy Riah's voice 
 followed her across the hall and down the broad 
 staircase : — 
 
 " Oh, we'll ride on de milk w'ite ponies, by en bye, little chillun, 
 We'll ride on de milk w'ite ponies, by en bye." 
 
 At the foot of the stair she called the dogs, and 
 they came bounding through the hall and leaped 
 
Love in a Maze 147 
 
 upon her as she crossed the portico. Then, as she 
 went down the drive and up the desolate turnpike, 
 they ran ahead of her with short, joyous barks. 
 
 The snow had melted and frozen again, and the 
 long road was like a gray river winding between 
 leafless trees. The gaunt crows were still flying 
 back and forth over the meadows, but she did not 
 have corn for them to-day. Had she been happy, 
 she would not have forgotten them ; but the pain in 
 her breast made her selfish even about the crows. 
 
 With the dogs leaping round her, she pressed 
 bravely against the wind, flying breathlessly from 
 the struggle at her heart. There was nothing to cry 
 over, she told herself again, nothing even to regret. 
 It was her own fault, and because it was her own 
 fault she could bear it quietly as she should have 
 borne the joy. 
 
 She had reached the spot where he had lifted her 
 upon the wall, and leaning against the rough stones 
 she looked southward to where the swelling mead- 
 ows dipped into the projecting line of hills. He 
 was before her then, as he always would be, and 
 shrinking back, she put up her hand to shut out the 
 memory of his eyes. She could have hated that 
 shallow gayety, she told herself, but for the tender- 
 ness that lay beneath it — since jest as he might at 
 his own scars, when had he ever made mirth of an- 
 other's? Had she not seen him fight the battles of 
 free Levi? and when Aunt Rhody's cabin was in 
 flames did he not bring out one of the negro babies 
 in his coat? That dare-devil courage which had 
 first caught her girlish fancy, thrilled her even 
 to-day as the proof of an ennobling purpose. She 
 
148 The Battle-Ground 
 
 remembered that he had gone whistling into the 
 burning cabin, and coming out again had coolly 
 taken up the broken air; and to her this inherent 
 recklessness was clothed with the sublimity of her 
 own ideals. 
 
 The cold wind had stiffened her limbs, and she ran 
 back into the road and walked on rapidly. Beyond 
 the whitened foldings of the mountains a deep red 
 glow was burning in the west, and she wanted to 
 hold out her hands to it for warmth. Her next 
 thought was that a winter sunset soon died out, and 
 as she turned quickly to go homeward, she saw that 
 she was before Aunt Ailsey's cabin, and that the 
 little window was yellow from the light within. 
 
 Aunt Ailsey had been dead for years, but the free 
 negro Levi had moved into her hut, and as Betty 
 looked up she saw him standing beneath the blasted 
 oak, with a bundle of brushwood upon his shoulder. 
 He was an honest-eyed, grizzled-haired old negro, 
 who wrung his meagre living from a blacksmith's 
 trade, bearing alike the scornful pity of his white 
 neighbours and the withering contempt of his black 
 ones. For twenty years he had moved from spot to 
 spot along the turnpike, and he had lived in the 
 dignity of loneliness since the day upon which his 
 master had won for himself the freedom of Eternity, 
 leaving to his servant Levi the labour of his own 
 hands. 
 
 As the girl spoke to him he answered timidly, fin- 
 gering the edge of his ragged coat. 
 
 Yes, he had managed to keep warm through the 
 winter, and he had worn the red flannel that she had 
 given him. 
 
Love in a Maze 149 
 
 " And your rheumatism ? " asked Betty, kindly. 
 
 He replied that it had been growing worse of 
 late, and with a sympathetic word the girl was pass- 
 ing by when some newer pathos in his solitary figure 
 stayed her feet, and she called back quickly, " Uncle 
 Levi, were you ever married ? " 
 
 " Dar, now," cried Uncle Levi, halting in the path 
 while a gleam of the wistful humour of his race 
 leaped to his eyes. " Dar, now, is you ever hyern 
 de likes er dat ? Mah'ed ! Cose Fse mah'ed. I'se 
 mah'ed quick' en Marse Boiling. Ain't you never 
 hyern tell er Sarindy ? " 
 
 " Sarindy ? " repeated the girl, questioningly. 
 
 " Lawd, Lawd, Sarindy wuz a moughty likely 
 nigger," said Uncle Levi, proudly ; " she warn' nut- 
 tin' but a fiel' han', but she 'uz a moughty likely 
 nigger." 
 
 " And did she die ? " asked Betty, in a whisper. 
 
 Uncle Levi rubbed his hands together, and shifted 
 the brushwood upon his shoulder. 
 
 " Who say Sarindy dead ? " he demanded sternly, 
 and added with a chuckle, " she warn' nuttin' but a 
 fiel' han', young miss, en I 'uz Marse Boiling's body 
 sarvent, so w'en dey sot me loose, dey des sol' Sa- 
 rindy up de river. Lawd, Lawd, she warn' nuttin' 
 but a fiel' han', but she 'uz pow'ful likely." 
 
 He went chuckling up the path, and Betty, with a 
 glance at the fading sunset, started briskly home- 
 ward. As she walked she was asking herself, in 
 a wonder greater than her own love or grief, if 
 Uncle Levi really thought it funny that they sold 
 Sarindy up the ri\ser. 
 
ffi 
 
 THE MAJOR LOSES HIS TEMPER 
 
 When Betty reached home the dark had fallen, 
 and as she entered the house she heard the crack- 
 ling of fresh logs from the library, and saw her 
 mother sitting alone in the firelight, which flickered 
 softly on her pearl-gray silk and ruffles of delicate 
 lace. 
 
 She was humming in a low voice one of the old 
 Scotch ballads the Governor loved, and as she rocked 
 gently in her rosewood chair, her shadow flitted to 
 and fro upon the floor. One loose bell sleeve hung 
 over the carved arm of the rocker, and the fingers 
 of her long white hand, so fragile that it was like; 
 a flower, played silently upon the polished wood. 
 
 As the girl entered she looked up quickly. " You 
 haven't been wandering off by yourself again ? " she 
 asked reproachfully. 
 
 " Oh, it is quite safe, mamma," replied Betty, im- 
 patiently. " I didn't meet a soul except free Levi." 
 
 " Your father wouldn't like it, my dear," returned 
 Mrs. Ambler, in the tone in which she might have 
 said, " it is forbidden in the Scriptures," and she 
 added after a moment, " but where is Petunia ? 
 iYou might, at least, take Petunia with you." 
 
 " Petunia is such a chatterbox," said Betty, toss- 
 ing her wraps upon a chair, " and if she sees a 
 
 150 
 
The Major Loses His Temper 151 
 
 cricket in the road she shrieks, ' Gawd er live, Miss 
 Betty,' and jumps on the other side of me. No, I 
 can't stand Petunia." 
 
 She sat down upon an ottoman at her mother's 
 feet, and rested her chin in her clasped hands. 
 
 " But did you never go walking in your life, 
 mamma ? " she questioned. 
 
 Mrs. Ambler looked a little startled. " Never 
 alone, my dear," she replied with dignity. " Why, 
 I shouldn't have thought of such a thing. There 
 was a path to a little arbour in the glen at my old 
 home, I remember, — I think it was at least a quar- 
 ter of a mile away, — and I sometimes strolled there 
 with your father; but there were a good many 
 briers about, so I usually preferred to stay on the 
 lawn." 
 
 Her voice was clear and sweet, but it had none 
 of the humour which gave piquancy to Betty's. It 
 might soothe, caress, even reprimand, but it could 
 never jest; for life to Mrs. Ambler was soft, yet 
 serious, like a continued prayer to a pleasant and 
 tender Deity. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't see how you stood it," said 
 Betty, sympathetically. 
 
 " Oh, I rode, my dear," returned her mother. " I 
 used to ride very often with your father or — or 
 one of the others. I had a brown mare named 
 Zephyr." 
 
 " And you never wanted to be alone, never for 
 a single instant ? " 
 
 " Alone ? " repeated Mrs. Ambler, wonderingly, 
 " why, of course I read my Bible and meditated an 
 hour every morning. In my youth it would have 
 
152 The Battle-Ground 
 
 been considered very unladylike not to do it, and 
 I'm sure there's no better way of beginning the day 
 than with a chapter in the Bible and a little medi- 
 tation. I wish you would try it, Betty." Her 
 eyes were upon her daughter, and she added in an 
 unchanged voice, " Don't you think you might 
 manage to make your hair lie smoother, dear? It's 
 very pretty, I know ; but the way it curls about your 
 face is just a bit untidy, isn't it?" 
 
 Then, as the Governor came in from his day in 
 town, she turned eagerly to hear the news of his 
 latest speech. 
 
 " Oh, I've had a great day, Julia," began the Gov- 
 ernor; but as he stooped to kiss her, she gave a 
 little cry of alarm. " Why, you're frozen through ! " 
 she exclaimed. " Betty, stir the fire, and make 
 your father sit down by the fender. Shall I mix 
 you a toddy, Mr. Ambler ? " 
 
 " Tut, tut ! " protested the Governor, laughing, 
 " a touch of the wind is good for the blood, my 
 dear." 
 
 There was a light track of snow where he had 
 crossed the room, and as he rested his foot upon the 
 brass knob of the fender, the ice clinging to his 
 riding-boot melted and ran down upon the hearth. 
 
 " Oh, I've had a great day," he repeated heartily, 
 holding his plump white hands to the flames. " It 
 was worth the trip to test the spirit of Virginia; 
 and it's sound, Julia, as sound as steel. Why, when 
 I said in my speech — you'll remember the place, 
 my dear — that if it came to a choice between slav- 
 ery and the Union, we'd ship the negroes back to 
 Africa, and hold on to the flag, I was applauded 
 
The Major Loses His Temper 153 
 
 to the echo, and it would have done you good to 
 hear the cheers." 
 
 " I knew it would be so, Mr. Ambler," returned 
 his wife, with conviction. " Even if they thought 
 otherwise I was sure your speech would convince 
 them. Dr. Crump was talking to me only yester- 
 day, and he said that he had heard both Mr. Yancey 
 and Mr. Douglas, and that neither of them — " 
 
 " I know, my love, I know," interposed the 
 Governor, waving his hand. " I have myself heard 
 the good doctor commit the same error of judg- 
 ment. But, remember, it is easy to convince a man 
 who already thinks as you do; and since the 
 Major has gone over to the Democrats, the doctor 
 has grown Whiggish, you know." 
 
 Mrs. Ambler flushed. " I'm sure I don't see why 
 you should deny that you have a talent for oratory," 
 she said gravely. " I have sometimes thought it was 
 why I fell in love with you, you made such a 
 beautiful speech the first day I met you at the tour- 
 nament in Leicesterburg. Fred Dulany crowned 
 me, you remember ; and in your speech you brought 
 in so many lovely things about flowers and women." 
 
 " Ah, Julia, Julia," sighed the Governor, " so the 
 sins of my youth are rising to confound me," and 
 he added quickly to Betty, " Isn't that some one 
 coming up the drive, daughter ? " 
 
 Betty ran to the window and drew back the 
 damask curtains. " It's the Major, papa," she said, 
 nodding to the old gentleman through the glass, 
 " and he does look so cold. Go out and bring him 
 in, and don't — please don't talk horrid politics 
 to-night." 
 
154 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " I'll not, daughter, on my word, I'll not," de- 
 clared the Governor, and he wore the warning as a 
 breastplate when he went out to meet his guest. 
 
 The Major, in his tight black broadcloth, entered, 
 with his blandest smile, and bowed over Mrs. Am- 
 bler's hand. 
 
 " I saw your firelight as I was passing, 
 dear madam," he began, " and I couldn't go on 
 without a glimpse of you, though I knew that Molly 
 was waiting for me at the end of three cold miles." 
 
 He put his arm about Betty and drew her to 
 him. 
 
 " You must borrow some of your sister's blushes, 
 my child," he said ; " it isn't right to grow pale at 
 your age. I don't like to see it," and then, as Vir- 
 ginia came shyly in, he held out his other hand, 
 and accused her of stealing his boy's heart away 
 from him. " But we old folks must give place to 
 the young," he continued cheerfully ; " it's nature, 
 and it's human nature, too." 
 
 " It will be a dull day when you give place to 
 any one else, Major," returned the Governor, po- 
 litely. 
 
 " And a far off one I trust," added Mrs. Ambler, 
 with her plaintive smile. 
 
 " Well, maybe so," responded the Major, settling 
 himself in an easy chair beside the fire. " Any way, 
 you can't blame an old man for fighting for his 
 own, as my friend Harry Smith put it when he lost 
 his leg in the War of 1812. 'By God, it belongs to 
 me,' he roared to the surgeon, ■ and if it comes off, 
 I'll take it off myself, sir.' It took six men to hold 
 him, and when it was over all he said was, 
 
The Major Loses His Temper 155 
 
 ' Well, gentlemen, you mustn't blame a man for 
 fighting for his own.' Ah, he was a sad scamp, 
 was Harry, a sad scamp. He used to say that he 
 didn't know whether he preferred a battle or a 
 dinner, but he reckoned a battle was better for the 
 blood. And to think that he died in his bed at last 
 like any Christian." 
 
 " That reminds me of Dick Wythe, who never 
 needed any tonic but a fight," returned the Gover- 
 nor, thoughtfully. " You remember Dick, don't 
 you, Major? — a hard drinker, poor fellow, but 
 handsome enough to have stepped out of Homer. 
 I've been sitting by him at the post-office on a 
 spring day, and seen him get up and slap a passer- 
 by on the face as coolly as he'd take his toddy. Of 
 course the man would slap back again, and 
 when it was over Dick would make his politest 
 bow, and say pleasantly, ' Thank you, sir, I felt a 
 touch of the gout.' He told me once that if it was 
 only a twinge, he chose a man of his own size ; but 
 if it was a positive wrench, he struck out at the 
 biggest he could find." 
 
 The Major leaned back, laughing. " That was 
 Dick, sir, that was Dick ! " he exclaimed, " and 
 it was his father before him. Why, I've had my 
 own blows with Taylor Wythe in his day, and never 
 a hard word afterward, never a word." Then his 
 face clouded. " I saw Dick's brother Tom in town 
 this morning," he added. " A sneaking fellow, who 
 hasn't the spirit in his whole body that was in his 
 father's little finger. Why, what do you suppose 
 he had the impudence to tell me, sir ? Some one had 
 asked him, he said, what he should do if Virginia 
 
156 The Battle-Ground 
 
 went to war, and he had answered that he'd stay 
 at home and build an asylum for the fools that 
 brought it on." He turned his indignant face upon 
 Mrs. Ambler, and she put in a modest word of 
 sympathy. 
 
 " You mustn't judge Tom by his jests, sir," 
 rejoined the Governor, persuasively. " His wit 
 takes with the town folks, you know, and I hear 
 that he's becoming famous as a post-office orator." 
 
 " There it is, sir, there it is," retorted the Major. 
 " I've always said that the post-offices were the ruin 
 of this country — and that proves my words. Why, 
 if there were no post-offices, there'd be fewer news- 
 papers ; and if there were fewer newspapers, there 
 wouldn't be the Richmond Whig." 
 
 The Governor's glance wandered to his writing 
 table. 
 
 " Then I should never see my views in print, 
 Major," he added, smiling; and a moment after- 
 ward, disregarding Mrs. Ambler's warning ges- 
 tures, he plunged headlong into a discussion of po- 
 litical conditions. 
 
 As he talked the Major sat trembling in his chair, 
 his stern face flushing from red to purple, and 
 the heavy veins upon his forehead standing out 
 like cords. " Vote for Douglas, sir ! " he cried 
 at last. " Vote for the biggest traitor that has gone 
 scot free since Arnold! Why, I'd sooner go over 
 to the arch-fiend himself and vote for Seward." 
 
 " I'm not sure that you won't go farther and fare 
 worse," replied the Governor, gravely. " You know 
 me for a loyal Whig, sir, but I tell you frankly, 
 that I believe Douglas to be the man to save the 
 
The Major Loses His Temper 157 
 
 South. Cast him off, and you cast off your remain- 
 ing hope." 
 
 "Tush, tush!" retorted the Major, hotly. "I 
 tell you I wouldn't vote to have Douglas President 
 of Perdition, sir. Don't talk to me about your loy- 
 alty, Peyton Ambler, you're mad — you're all mad ! 
 I honestly believe that I am the only sane man in the 
 state." 
 
 The Governor had risen from his chair and was 
 walking nervously about the room. His eyes were 
 dim, and his face was pallid with emotion. 
 
 " My God, sir, don't you see where you are drift- 
 ing ? " he cried, stretching out an appealing hand to 
 the angry old gentleman in the easy chair. 
 
 "Drifting! Pooh, pooh!" protested the Major, 
 " at least I am not drifting into a nest of traitors, 
 sir." 
 
 And with his wrath hot within he rose to take 
 his leave, very red and stormy, but retaining the 
 presence of mind to assure Mrs. Ambler that the 
 glimpse of her fireside would send him rejoicing 
 upon his way. 
 
 Such burning topics went like strong wine to his 
 head, and like strong wine left a craving which 
 always carried him back to them in the end. He 
 would quarrel with the Governor, and make his 
 peace, and at the next meeting quarrel, without 
 peace-making, again. 
 
 " Don't, oh, please don't talk horrid politics, 
 papa," Betty would implore, when she saw the nose 
 of his dapple mare turn into the drive between the 
 silver poplars. 
 
 " I'll not, daughter, I give you my word I'll not," 
 
158 The Battle-Ground 
 
 the Governor would answer, and for a time the 
 conversation would jog easily along the well worn 
 roads of county changes and by the green graves 
 of many a long dead jovial neighbour. While the 
 red logs spluttered on the hearth, they would sip 
 their glasses of Madeira and amicably weigh the 
 dust of " my friend Dick Wythe — a fine fellow, in 
 spite of his little weakness." 
 
 But in the end the live question would rear its 
 head and come hissing from among the quiet 
 graves ; and Dick Wythe, who loved his fight, or 
 Plaintain Dudley, in his ruffled shirt, would fall 
 back suddenly to make way for the wrangling fig- 
 ures of the slaveholder and the abolitionist. 
 
 " I can't help it, Betty, I can't help it," the Gov- 
 ernor would declare, when he came back from fol- 
 lowing the old gentleman to the drive ; " did you 
 see Mr. Yancey step out of Dick Wythe's dry bones 
 to-day? Poor Dick, an honest fellow who loved 
 no man's quarrel but his own; it's too bad, I de- 
 clare it's too bad." And the next day he would send 
 Betty over to Chericoke to stroke down the Major's 
 temper. " Slippery are the paths of the peace- 
 maker," the girl laughed one morning, when she 
 had ridden home after an hour of persuasion. " I 
 go on tip-toe because of your indiscretions, papa. 
 You really must learn to control yourself, the Major 
 says." 
 
 " Control myself ! " repeated the Governor, laugh- 
 ing, though he looked a little vexed. " If I hadn't 
 the control of a stoic, daughter, to say nothing 
 of the patience of Job, do you think I'd be able 
 to listen calmly to his tirades? Why, he wants to 
 
The Major Loses His Temper 159 
 
 pull the Government to pieces for his pleasure," 
 then he pinched her cheek and added, smiling, 
 " Oh, you sly puss, why don't you play your pranks 
 upon one of your own age ? " 
 
 Through the long winter many visits were ex- 
 changed between Uplands and Chericoke, and once, 
 on a mild February morning, Mrs. Lightfoot drove 
 over in her old coach, with her knitting and her 
 handmaid Mitty, to spend the day. She took Betty 
 back with her, and the girl stayed a week in the 
 queer old house, where the elm boughs tapped upon 
 her window as she slept, and the shadows on the 
 crooked staircase frightened her when she went up 
 and down at night. It seemed to her that the pres- 
 ence of Jane Lightfoot still haunted the home that 
 she had left. When the snow fell on the roof and 
 the wind beat against the panes, she would open 
 her door and look out into the long dim halls, as if 
 she half expected to see a girlish figure in a muslin 
 gown steal softly to the stair. 
 
 Dan was less with her in that stormy week than 
 was the memory of his mother; even Great-aunt 
 Emmeline, whose motto was written on the ivied 
 glass, grew faint beside the outcast daughter of 
 whom but one pale miniature remained. Before 
 Betty went back to Uplands she had grown to know 
 Jane Lightfoot as she knew herself. 
 
 When the spring came she took up her trowel 
 and followed Aunt Lydia into the garden. On 
 bright mornings the two would work side by side 
 among the flowers, kneeling in a row with the small 
 darkies who came to their assistance. Peter, the 
 gardener, would watch them lazily, as he leaned 
 
160 The Battle-Ground 
 
 upon his hoe, and mutter beneath his breath, " Dat 
 dut wuz dut, en de dut er de flow'r baids warn' no 
 better'n de dut er de co'n fiel'." 
 
 Betty would laugh and shake her head as she 
 planted her square of pansies. She was working 
 feverishly to overcome her longing for the sight 
 of Dan, and her growing dread of his return.. 
 
 But at last on a sunny morning, when the lilacs 
 made a lane of purple to the road, the Major drove 
 over with the news that " the boys would not be 
 back again till autumn. They'll go abroad for the 
 summer," he added proudly. " It's time they were 
 seeing something of the world, you know. I've al- 
 ways said that a man should see the world before 
 thirty, if he wants to stay at home after forty," 
 then he smiled down on Virginia, and pinched her 
 cheek. " It won't hurt Dan, my dear," he said 
 cheerfully. " Let him get a glimpse of artificial 
 flowers, that he may learn the value of our own 
 beauties." 
 
 "Of Great-aunt Emmeline, you mean, sir," re- 
 plied Virginia, laughing. 
 
 " Oh, yes, my child," chuckled the Major. " Let 
 him learn the value of Great-aunt Emmeline, by all 
 means." 
 
 When the old gentleman had gone, Betty went 
 into the garden, where the grass was powdered 
 with small spring flowers, and gathered a bunch 
 of white violets for her mother. Aunt Lydia was 
 walking slowly up and down in the mild sunshine, 
 and her long black shadow passed over the girl as 
 she knelt in the narrow grass-grown path. A slen- 
 der spray of syringa drooped down upon her head, 
 
The Major Loses His Temper 161 
 
 and the warm wind was sweet with the heavy 
 perfume of the lilacs. On the whitewashed fence 
 a catbird was calling over the meadow, and another 
 answered from the little bricked-up graveyard, 
 where the gate was opened only when a fresh grave 
 was to be hollowed out amid the periwinkle. 
 
 As Betty knelt there, something in the warm 
 wind, the heavy perfume, or the old lady's flitting 
 shadow touched her with a sudden melancholy, 
 and while the tears lay upon her lashes, she started 
 quickly to her feet and looked about her. But a 
 great peace was in the air, and around her she 
 saw only the garden wrapped in sunshine, the small 
 spring flowers in bloom, and Aunt Lydia moving 
 up and down in the box-bordered walk. 
 
VI 
 
 THE MEETING IN THE TURNPIKE 
 
 On a late September afternoon Dan rode leisurely 
 homeward along the turnpike. He had reached 
 New York some days before, but instead of hur- 
 rying on with Champe, he had sent a careless apol- 
 ogy to his expectant grandparents while he waited 
 over to look up a missing trunk. 
 
 " Oh, what difference does a day make ? " 
 he had urged in reply to Champe's remonstrances, 
 " and after going all the way to Paris, I can't afford 
 to lose my clothes, you know. I'm not a Leander, 
 my boy, and there's no Hero awaiting me. You 
 can't expect a fellow to sacrifice the proprieties for 
 his grandmother." 
 
 " Well, I'm going, that's all," rejoined Champe, 
 and Dan heartily responded, " God be with you," as 
 he shook his hand. 
 
 Now, as he rode slowly up the turnpike on a 
 hired horse, he was beginning to regret, with an 
 impatient self-reproach, the three tiresome days he 
 had stolen from his grandfather's delight. It was 
 characteristic of him at the age of twenty-one that 
 he began to regret what appeared to be a pleasure 
 only after it had proved to be a disappointment. 
 Had the New York days been gay instead of dull, 
 it is probable that he would have ridden home with 
 
 162 
 
The Meeting in the Turnpike 163 
 
 an easy conscience and a lordly belief that there 
 was something generous in the spirit of his coming 
 back at all. 
 
 A damp wind was blowing straight along the 
 turnpike, and the autumn fields, brilliant with 
 golden-rod and sumach, stretched under a sky which 
 had clouded over so suddenly that the last rays of 
 sun were still shining upon the mountains. 
 
 He had left Uplands a mile behind, throwing, as 
 he passed, a wistful glance between the silver pop- 
 lars. A pink dress had fluttered for an instant be- 
 yond the Doric columns, and he had wondered idly 
 if it meant Virginia, and if she were still the 
 pretty little simpleton of six months ago. At the 
 thought of her he threw back his head and whis- 
 tled gayly into the threatening sky, so gayly that 
 a bluebird flying across the road hovered round 
 him in the air. The joy of living possessed him at 
 the moment, a mere physical delight in the circula- 
 tion of his blood, in the healthy beating of his 
 pulses. Old things which he had half forgotten 
 appealed to him suddenly with all the force of fresh 
 impressions. The beauty of the September fields, 
 the long curve in the white road where the tuft of 
 cedars grew, the falling valley which went down 
 between the hills, stood out for him as if bathed in 
 a new and tender light. The youth in him was 
 looking through his eyes. 
 
 And the thought of Virginia went merrily with 
 his mood. What a pretty little simpleton she was, 
 by George, and what a dull world this would be 
 were it not for the pretty simpletons in pink 
 dresses ! Why, in that case one might as well sit in 
 
164 The Battle-Ground 
 
 a library and read Horace and wear red flannel. 
 One might as well — a drop of rain fell in his face 
 and he lowered his head. When he did so he saw 
 that Betty was coming along the turnpike, and that 
 she wore a dress of blue dimity. 
 
 In a flash of light his first wonder was that he 
 should ever have preferred pink to blue ; his second 
 that a girl in a dimity gown and a white chip bon- 
 net should be fleeing from a storm along the turn- 
 pike. As he jumped from his horse he faced her a 
 little anxiously. 
 
 " There's a hard shower coming, and you'll be 
 wet," he said. 
 
 " And my bonnet ! " cried Betty, breathlessly. 
 She untied the blue strings and swung them over 
 her arm. There was a flush in her cheeks, and as 
 he drew nearer she fell back quickly. 
 
 " You — you came so suddenly," she stam- 
 mered. 
 
 He laughed aloud. " Doesn't the Prince always 
 come suddenly ? " he asked. " You are like the 
 wandering princess in the fairy tale — all in blue 
 upon a lonely road; but this isn't just the place 
 for loitering, you know. Come up behind me and 
 I'll carry you to shelter in Aunt Ailsey's cabin; 
 it isn't the first time I've run away with you, re- 
 member." He lifted her upon the horse, and 
 started at a gallop up the turnpike. " I'm afraid 
 the steed doesn't take the romantic view," he went 
 on lightly. " There, get up, Barebones, the lady 
 doesn't want to wet her bonnet. Lean against me, 
 Betty, and I'll try to shelter you." 
 
 But the rain was in their faces, and Betty shut 
 
The Meeting in the Turnpike 165 
 
 her eyes to keep out the hard bright drops. As she 
 clung with both hands to his arm, her wet cheek 
 was hidden against his coat, and the blue ribbons on 
 her breast were blown round them in the wind. It 
 was as if one of her dreams had awakened from 
 sleep and come boldly out into the daylight; and 
 because it was like a dream she trembled and wa6 
 half ashamed of its reality. 
 
 " Here we are ! " he exclaimed, in a moment, 
 as he turned the horse round the blasted tree into 
 the little path amid the vegetables. " If you are 
 soaked through, we might as well go on; but if 
 you're half dry, build a fire and get warm." He 
 put her down upon the square stone before the door- 
 way, and slipping the reins over the branch of a 
 young willow tree, followed her into the cabin. 
 " Why, you're hardly damp," he said, with his hand 
 on her arm. " I got the worst of it." 
 
 He crossed over to the great open fireplace, and 
 kneeling upon the hearth raked a hollow in the old 
 ashes ; then he kindled a blaze from a pile of light- 
 wood knots, and stood up brushing his hands to- 
 gether. " Sit down and get warm," he said hos- 
 pitably. " If I may take upon myself to do the du- 
 ties of free Levi's castle, I should even invite you to 
 make yourself at home." With a laugh he glanced 
 about the bare little room, — at the uncovered raf- 
 ters, the rough log walls, and the empty cupboard 
 with its swinging doors. In one corner there was 
 a pallet hidden by a ragged patchwork quilt, and fac- 
 ing it a small pine table upon which stood an ash- 
 cake ready for the embers. 
 
 The laughter was still in his eyes when he looked 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 8 
 
1 66 The Battle-Ground 
 
 at Betty. " Now where's the sense of going walking 
 in the rain ? " he demanded. 
 
 " I didn't," replied Betty, quickly. " It was clear 
 when I started, and the clouds came up before I 
 knew it. I had been across the fields to the woods, 
 and I was coming home along the turnpike." She 
 loosened her hair, and kneeling upon the smooth 
 stones, dried it before the flames. As she shook the 
 curling ends a sparkling shower of rain drops was 
 scattered over Dan. 
 
 " Well, I don't see much sense in that," he re- 
 turned slowly, with his gaze upon her. 
 
 She laughed and held out her moist hands to 
 the fire. " Well, there was more than you see," 
 she responded pleasantly, and added, while she 
 smiled at him with narrowed eyes, " dear me, you've 
 grown so much older." 
 
 " And you've grown so much prettier," he re- 
 torted boldly. 
 
 A flush crossed her face, and her look grew a 
 little wistful. " The rain has bewitched you," she 
 said. 
 
 " You may call me a fool if you like," he pur- 
 sued, as if she had not spoken, " but I did not know 
 until to-day that you had the most beautiful hair 
 in the world. Why, it is always sunshine about 
 you." He put out his hand to touch a loose curl 
 that hung upon her shoulder, then drew it quickly 
 back. " I don't suppose I might," he asked 
 humbly. 
 
 Betty gathered up her hair with shaking hands, 
 which gleamed white in the firelight, and carelessly 
 twisted it about her head. 
 
The Meeting in the Turnpike 167 
 
 " It is not nearly so pretty as Virginia's," she 
 said in a low voice. 
 
 " Virginia's ? Oh, nonsense ! " he exclaimed, 
 and walked rapidly up and down the room. 
 
 Beyond the open door the rain fell heavily; he 
 heard it beating softly on the roof and dripping 
 down upon the smooth square stone before the 
 threshold. A red maple leaf was washed in from 
 the path and lay a wet bit of colour upon the floor. 
 " I wonder where old man Levi is ? " he said sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " In the rain, I'm afraid," Betty answered, " and 
 he has rheumatism, too; he was laid up for three 
 months last winter." 
 
 She spoke quietly, but she was conscious of a 
 quiver from head to foot, as if a strong wind had 
 swept over her. Through the doorway she saw the 
 young willow tree trembling in the storm and felt 
 curiously akin to it. 
 
 Dan came slowly back to the hearth, and leaning 
 against the crumbling mortar of the chimney, 
 looked thoughtfully down upon her. " Do you 
 know what I thought of when I saw you with your 
 hair down, Betty ? " 
 
 She shook her head, smiling. 
 
 " I don't suppose I'd thought of it for years," he 
 went on quickly ; " but when you took your hair 
 down, and looked up at me so small and white, 
 it all came back to me as if it were yesterday. I 
 remembered the night I first came along this road 
 — God-forsaken little chap that I was — and saw 
 you standing out there in your nightgown — with 
 your little cold bare feet. The moonlight was full 
 
1 68 The Battlc-Ground 
 
 upon you, and I thought you were a ghost. At first I 
 wanted to run away ; but you spoke, and I stood still 
 and listened. I remember what it was, Betty. — 
 ' Mr. Devil, I'm going in/ you said. Did you 
 take me for the devil, I wonder?" 
 
 She smiled up at him, and he saw her kind eyes 
 fill with tears. The wavering smile only deepened 
 the peculiar tenderness of her look. 
 
 " I had been sitting in the briers for an hour," he 
 resumed, after a moment ; " it was a day and night 
 since I had eaten a bit of bread, and I had been 
 digging up sassafras roots with my bare fingers. 
 I remember that I rooted at one for nearly an hour, 
 and found that it was sumach, after all. Then I got 
 up and went on again, and there you were standing 
 in the moonlight — " He broke off, hesitated an 
 instant, and added with the gallant indiscretion of 
 youth, " By George, that ought to have made a 
 man of me ! " 
 
 " And you are a man," said Betty. 
 
 " A man ! " he appeared to snap his fingers at 
 the thought. " I am a weather-vane, a leaf in the 
 wind, a — an ass. I haven't known my own mind 
 ten minutes during the last two years, and the only 
 thing I've ever gone honestly about is my own 
 pleasure. Oh, yes, I have the courage of my in- 
 clinations, I admit." 
 
 " But I don't understand — what does it mean ? 
 — I don't understand," faltered Betty, vaguely 
 troubled by his mood. 
 
 " Mean ? Why, it means that I've been ruined, 
 and it's too late to mend me. I'm no better than 
 a pampered poodle dog. It means that I've gotten 
 
The Meeting in the Turnpike 169 
 
 everything I wanted, until I begin to fancy there's 
 nothing under heaven I can't get." Then, in one 
 of his quick changes of temper, his face cleared with 
 a burst of honest laughter. 
 
 She grew merry instantly, and as she smiled up at 
 him, he saw her eyes like rays of hazel light be- 
 tween her lashes. "Has the black crow gone?" 
 she asked. " Do you know when I have a gray 
 day Mammy calls it the black crow flying by. As 
 long as his shadow is over you, there's always 
 a gloom at the brain, she says. Has he quite gone 
 by?" 
 
 " Oh, he flew by quickly," he answered, laughing, 
 " he didn't even stay to flap his wings." Then he 
 became suddenly grave. " I wonder what kind of 
 a man you'll fall in love with, Betty ? " he said 
 abruptly. 
 
 She drew back startled, and her eyes reminded 
 him of those of a frightened wild thing he had 
 come upon in the spring woods one day. As she 
 shrank from him in her dim blue dress, her hair 
 fell from its coil and lay like a gold bar across 
 her bosom, which fluttered softly with her quick- 
 ened breath. 
 
 " I ? Why, how can I tell ? " she asked. 
 
 " He'll not be black and ugly, I dare say? " 
 
 She shook her head, regaining her composure. 
 
 " Oh, no, fair and beautiful," she answered. 
 
 " Ah, as unlike me as day from night ? " 
 
 " As day from night," she echoed, and went on 
 after a moment, her girlish visions shining in her 
 eyes : — 
 
 " He will be a man, at least," she said slowly, "a 
 
170 The Battlc-Ground 
 
 man with a faith to fight for — to live for — to 
 make him noble. He may be a beggar by the road- 
 side, but he will be a beggar with dreams. He will 
 be forever travelling to some great end — some 
 clear purpose." The last words came so faintly 
 that he bent nearer to hear. A deep flush swept 
 to her forehead, and she turned from him to the 
 fire. These were things that she had hidden even 
 from Virginia. 
 
 But as he looked steadily down upon her, 
 something of her own pure fervour was in his face. 
 Her vivid beauty rose like a flame to his eyes, and 
 for a single instant it seemed to him that he had 
 never looked upon a woman until to-day. 
 
 " So you would sit with him in the dust of the 
 roadside ? " he asked, smiling. 
 
 " But the dust is beautiful when the sun shines 
 on it," answered the girl; "and on wet days we 
 should go into the pine woods, and on fair ones 
 rest in the open meadows ; and we should sing 
 with the robins, and make friends with the little 
 foxes." 
 
 He laughed softly. "Ah, Betty, Betty, I know 
 you now for a dreamer of dreams. With all your 
 pudding-mixing and your potato-planting you are 
 moon-mad like the rest of us." 
 
 She made a disdainful little gesture. " Why, I 
 never planted a potato in my life." 
 
 " Don't scoff, dear lady," he returned warningly ; 
 " too great literalness is the sin of womankind, you 
 know." 
 
 " But I don't care in the least for vegetable-grow- 
 ing," she persisted seriously. 
 
The Meeting in the Turnpike 171 
 
 The humour twinkled in his eyes. " Thriftless 
 woman, would you prefer to beg ? " 
 
 " When the Major rode by," laughed Betty ; " but 
 when I heard you coming, I'd lie hidden among the 
 briers, and I'd scatter signs for other gypsies that 
 read, ' Beware the Montjoy.' " 
 
 His face darkened and he frowned. " So it's the 
 Montjoy you're afraid of," he rejoined gloomily. 
 " I'm not all Lightfoot, though I'm apt to forget it ; 
 the Montjoy blood is there, all the same, and it isn't 
 good blood." 
 
 " Your blood is good," said Betty, warmly. 
 
 He laughed again and met her eyes with a look 
 of whimsical tenderness. " Make me your beggar, 
 Betty," he prayed, smiling. 
 
 " You a beggar ! " She shook a scornful head. 
 " I can shut my eyes and see your fortune, sir, and 
 it doesn't lie upon the roadside. I see a well- 
 fed country gentleman who rises late to break- 
 fast and storms when the birds are overdone, who 
 drinks his two cups of coffee and eats syrup upon 
 his cakes — " 
 
 " O pleasant prophetess ! " he threw in. 
 
 " I look and see him riding over the rich fields 
 in the early morning, watching from horseback the 
 planting and the growing and the ripening of the 
 corn. He has a dozen servants to fetch the whip 
 he drops, and a dozen others to hold his bridle when 
 he pleases to dismount ; the dogs leap round him in 
 the drive, and he brushes away the one that licks his 
 face. I see him grow stout and red-faced as he 
 reads a dull Latin volume beside his bottle of old 
 port — there's your fortune, sir, the silver, if you 
 
172 The Battle-Ground 
 
 please." She finished in a whining voice, and rose 
 to drop a courtesy. 
 
 " On my word, you're a witch, Betty," he ex- 
 claimed, laughing, " a regular witch on a broom- 
 stick." 
 
 " Does the likeness flatter you ? Shall I touch 
 it up a bit ? Just a dash more of red in the face ? " 
 
 " Well, I reckon it's true as prophecy ever was," 
 he said easily. " It isn't likely that I'll ever be a 
 beggar, despite your kindly wishes for my soul's 
 welfare; and, on the whole, I think I'd rather not. 
 When all's said and done, I'd rather own my ser- 
 vants and my cultivated acres, and come down late 
 to hot cakes than sit in the dust by the roadside 
 and eat sour grapes. It may not be so good for 
 the soul, but it's vastly more comfortable ; and I'm 
 not sure that a fat soul in a lean body is the best 
 of life, Betty." 
 
 " At least it doesn't give one gout," retorted 
 Betty, mercilessly, adding as she went to the door: 
 " but the rain is holding up, and I must be going. 
 I'll borrow your horse, if you please, Dan.' 8 She 
 tied on her flattened bonnet, and with her foot on 
 the threshold, stood looking across the wet fields, 
 where each spear of grass pieced a string of shin- 
 ing rain drops. Over the mountains the clouds 
 tossed in broken masses, and loose streamers of 
 vapour drifted down into the lower foldings of the 
 hills. The cool smell of the moist road came to her 
 on the wind. 
 
 Dan unfastened the reins from the young willow, 
 and led the horse to the stone at the entrance. Then 
 he threw his coat over the dampened saddle and 
 
The Meeting in the Turnpike 173 
 
 lifted Betty upon it. " Pooh ! I'm as tough as a 
 pine knot." He scoffed at her protests. " There, 
 sit steady ; I'd better hold you on, I suppose." 
 
 Slipping the reins loosely over his arm, he laid 
 his hand upon the blue folds of her skirt. " If you 
 feel yourself going, just catch my shoulder," he 
 added ; " and now we're off." 
 
 They left the little path and went slowly down 
 the turnpike, under the dripping trees. Across the 
 fields a bird was singing after the storm, and the 
 notes were as fresh as the smell of the rain-washed 
 earth. A fuller splendour seemed to have deepened 
 suddenly upon the meadows, and the golden-rod 
 ran in streams of fire across the landscape. 
 
 " Everything looks so changed," said Betty, wist- 
 fully ; " are you sure that we are still in the same 
 world, Dan?" 
 
 " Sure ? " he looked up at her gayly. " I'm sure 
 of but one thing in this life, Betty, and that is that 
 you should thank your stars you met me." 
 
 " I don't doubt that I should have gotten home 
 somehow," responded Betty, ungratefully, " so don't 
 flatter yourself that you have saved even my bon- 
 net." From its blue-lined shadow she smiled 
 brightly down upon him. 
 
 " Well, all the same, I dare to be grateful," he 
 rejoined. " Even if you haven't saved my hat, — 
 and I can't honestly convince myself that you have, 
 — I thank my stars I met you, Betty." He threw 
 back his head and sang softly to himself as they 
 .went on under the scudding clouds. 
 
VII 
 
 IF THIS BE LOVE 
 
 An hour later, Cephas, son of Cupid, gathering 
 his basketful of chips at the woodpile, beheld his 
 young master approaching by the branch road, and 
 started shrieking for the house. " Hi ! hit's Marse 
 Dan ! hit's Marse Dan ! " he yelled to his father 
 Cupid in the pantry ; " I seed 'im fu'st ! Fo' de 
 Lawd, I seed 'im fu'st!" and the Major, hearing 
 the words, appeared instantly at the door of his 
 library. 
 
 " It's the boy," he called excitedly. " Bless my 
 soul, Molly, the boy has come ! " 
 
 The old lady came hurriedly downstairs, pinning 
 on her muslin cap, and by the time Dan had dis- 
 mounted at the steps the whole household was as- 
 sembled to receive him. 
 
 " Well, well, my boy," exclaimed the Major, 
 moving nervously about, " this is a surprise, indeed. 
 We didn't look for you until next week. Well, 
 well." 
 
 He turned away to wipe his eyes, while Dan 
 caught his grandmother in his arms and kissed her a 
 dozen times. The joy of these simple souls touched 
 him with a new tenderness ; he felt unworthy of his 
 grandmother's kisses and the Major's tears. Why 
 had he stayed away when his coming meant so 
 «74 
 
If This Be Love 175 
 
 much? What was there in all the world worth the 
 closer knitting of these strong blood ties? 
 
 " By George, but I'm glad to get here," he said 
 heartily. " There's nothing I've seen across the 
 water that comes up to being home again; and 
 the sight of your faces is better than the wonders of 
 the world, I declare. Ah, Cupid, old man, I'm glad 
 to see you. And Aunt Rhody and Congo, how are 
 you all? Why, where's Big Abel? Don't tell me 
 he isn't here to welcome me." 
 
 " Hyer I is, young Marster, hyer I is," cried Big 
 Abel, stretching out his hand over Congo's head, and 
 " Hyer I is, too," shouted Cephas from behind him. 
 " I seed you fu'st, fo' de Lawd, I seed you fu'st ! " 
 
 They gathered eagerly round him, and with a 
 laugh, and a word for one and all, he caught the 
 outstretched hands, scattering his favours like a 
 young Jove. " Yes, I've remembered you — there, 
 don't smother me. Did you think I'd dare to show 
 my face, Aunt Rhody, without the gayest necker- 
 chief in Europe ? Why, I waited over in New York 
 just to see that it was safe. Oh, don't smother me, 
 I say." The dogs came bounding in, and he greeted 
 them with much the same affectionate condescension, 
 caressing them as they sprang upon him, and push- 
 ing away the one that licked his face. When the 
 overseer ran in hastily to shake his hand, there was 
 no visible change in his manner. He greeted black 
 and white with a courtesy which marked the social 
 line, with an affability which had a touch of the 
 august. Had the gulf between them been less im- 
 passable, he would not have dared the hearty hand- 
 shake, the genial word, the pat upon the head — 
 
176 The Battle-Ground 
 
 these were a tribute which he paid to the very; 
 humble. 
 
 When the servants had streamed chattering out 
 through the back door, he put his arms about the 
 old people and led them into the library. " Why, 
 what's become of Champe ? " he inquired, glancing 
 complacently round the book-lined walls. 
 
 " Ah, you mustn't expect to see anything of 
 Champe these days," replied the Major, waiting for 
 Mrs. Lightfoot to be seated before he drew up his 
 chair. " His heart's gone roving, I tell him, and he 
 follows mighty closely after it. If you don't find 
 him at Uplands, you've only to inquire at Powell 
 Hall." 
 
 " Uplands ! " exclaimed Dan, hearing the one 
 word. " What is he doing at Uplands ? " 
 
 The Major chuckled as he settled himself in his 
 easy chair and stretched out his slippered feet. 
 " Well, I should say that he was doing a very com- 
 mendable thing, eh, Molly?" he rejoined jokingly. 
 
 " He's losing his head, if that's what you mean," 
 retorted the old lady. 
 
 " Not his head, but his heart, my dear," blandly 
 corrected the Major, " and I repeat that it is a 
 very commendable thing to do — why, where would 
 you be to-day, madam, if I hadn't fallen in love 
 with you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot sniffed as she unwound her knit- 
 ting. " I don't doubt that I should be quite as well 
 off, Mr. Lightfoot," she replied convincingly. 
 
 " Ah, maybe so, maybe so," admitted the Major, 
 with a sigh ; " but I'm very sure that I shouldn't be, 
 my dear." 
 
If This Be Love 177 
 
 The old lady softened visibly, but she only re- 
 marked : — 
 
 " I'm glad that you have found it out, sir," and 
 clicked her needles. 
 
 Dan, who had been wandering aimlessly about 
 the room, threw himself into a chair beside his 
 grandmother and caught at her ball of yarn. 
 
 " It's Virginia, I suppose," he suggested. 
 
 The Major laughed until his spectacles clouded. 
 
 " Virginia ! " he gasped, wiping the glasses upon 
 his white silk handkerchief. " Listen to the boy, 
 Molly, he believes every last one of us — myself to 
 boot, I reckon — to be in love with Miss Virginia." 
 
 " If he does, he believes as many men have done 
 before him," interposed Mrs. Lightfoot, with a 
 homely philosophy. 
 
 " Well, isn't it Virginia ? " asked Dan. 
 
 " I tell you frankly," pursued the Major, in a 
 confidential voice, " that if vou want a rival with 
 Virginia, you'll be apt to find a stout one in Jack 
 Morson. He was back a week ago, and he's a fine 
 fellow — a first-rate fellow. I declare, he came 
 over here one evening and I couldn't begin a single 
 quotation from Horace that he didn't know the end 
 of it. On my word, he's not only a fine fellow, but 
 a cultured gentleman. You may remember, sir, that 
 I have always maintained that the two most refin- 
 ing influences upon the manners were to be found 
 in the society of ladies and a knowledge of the Latin 
 language." 
 
 Dan gave the yarn an impatient jerk. " Tell me, 
 grandma," he besought her. 
 
 As was her custom, the old lady came quickly to 
 
178 The Battle-Ground 
 
 the point and appeared to transfix the question witH 
 the end of her knitting-needle. " I really think that 
 it is Betty, my child," she answered calmly. 
 
 " What does he mean by falling in love with 
 Betty ? " demanded Dan, while he rose to his feet, 
 and the ball of yarn fell upon the floor. 
 
 " Don't ask me what he means, sir," protested the 
 Major. " If a man in love has any meaning in him, 
 it takes a man in love to find it out. Maybe you'll 
 be better at it than I am ; but I give it up — I give it 
 up." 
 
 With a gloomy face Dan sat down again, and 
 resting his arms on his knees, stared at the vase of 
 golden-rod between the tall brass andirons. Cupid 
 came in to light the lamps, and stopped to inquire if 
 Mrs. Lightfoot would like a blaze to be started in 
 the fireplace. " It's a little chilly, my dear," re- 
 marked the Major, slapping his arm. " There's 
 been a sharp change in the weather ; " and Cupid 
 removed the vase of golden-rod and laid an armful 
 of sticks crosswise on the andirons. 
 
 " Draw up to the hearth, my boy," said the Major, 
 when the fire burned. " Even if you aren't cold, it 
 looks cheerful, you know — draw up, draw up," 
 and he at once began to question his grandson about 
 the London streets, evoking as he talked dim mem- 
 ories of his own early days in England. He asked 
 after St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey half as if 
 they were personal friends of whose death he feared 
 to hear; and upon being answered that they still 
 stood unchanged, he pressed eagerly for the gossip 
 of the Strand and Fleet Street. Was Dr. Johnson's 
 coffee-house still standing? and did Dan remember 
 
If This Be Love 179 
 
 to look up the haunts of Mr. Addison in his youth ? 
 " I've gotten a good deal out of Champe," he con- 
 fessed, " but I like to hear it again — I like to hear 
 it. Why, it takes me back forty years, and makes me 
 younger." 
 
 And when Champe came in from his ride, he 
 found the old gentleman upon the hearth-rug, his 
 white hair tossing over his brow, as he recited from 
 Mr. Addison with the zest of a schoolboy of a hun- 
 dred years ago. 
 
 " Hello, Beau ! I hope you got your clothes," was 
 Champe's greeting, as he shook his cousin's hand. 
 
 " Oh, they turned up all right," said Dan, care- 
 lessly, " and, by-the-way, there was an India shawl 
 for grandma in that very trunk." 
 
 Champe crossed to the fireplace and stood finger- 
 ing one of the tall vases. " It's a pity you didn't 
 stop by Uplands," he observed. " You'd have found 
 Virginia more blooming than ever." 
 
 " Ah, is that so ? " returned Dan, flushing, and a 
 moment afterward he added with an effort, " I met 
 Betty in the turnpike, you know." 
 
 Six months ago, he remembered, he had raved 
 out his passion for Virginia, and to-day he could 
 barely stammer Betty's name. A great silence! 
 seemed to surround the thought of her. 
 
 " So she told me," replied Champe, looking stead- 
 ily at Dan. For a moment he seemed about to 
 speak again ; then changing his mind, he left the 
 room with a casual remark about dressing for sup- 
 per. 
 
 " I'll go, too," said Dan, rising from his seat. " If 
 you'll believe me, I haven't spoken to my old love, 
 
180 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Aunt Emmeline. So proud a beauty is not to be 
 treated with neglect." 
 
 He lighted one of the tall candles upon the man- 
 tel-piece, and taking it in his hand, crossed the hall 
 and went into the panelled parlour, where Great-aunt 
 Emmeline, in the lustre of her amber brocade, smiled 
 her changeless smile from out the darkened canvas. 
 There was wit in her curved lip and spirit in her 
 humorous gray eyes, and the marble whiteness of 
 her brow, which had brought her many lovers in 
 her lifetime, shone undimmed beneath the masses of 
 her chestnut hair. With her fair body gone to dust, 
 she still held her immortal apple by the divine right 
 of her remembered beauty. 
 
 As Dan looked at her it seemed to him for the 
 first time that he found a likeness to Betty — to 
 Betty as she smiled up at him from the hearth in 
 Aunt Ailsey's cabin. It was not in the mouth alone, 
 nor in the eyes alone, but in something indefinable 
 which belonged to every feature — in the kindly fer- 
 vour that shone straight out from the smiling face. 
 Ah, he knew now why Aunt Emmeline had charmed 
 a generation. 
 
 He blew out the candle, and went back into the 
 hall where the front door stood half open. Then 
 taking down his hat, he descended the steps and 
 strolled thoughtfully up and down the gravelled 
 drive. 
 
 The air was still moist, and beyond the gray 
 meadows the white clouds huddled like a flock of 
 sheep upon the mountain side. From the branches 
 of the old elms fell a few yellowed leaves, and 
 among them birds were flying back and forth with" 
 
If This Be Love 1S1 
 
 short cries. A faint perfume came from the high 
 urns beside the steps, where a flowering creeper 
 was bruised against the marble basins. 
 
 With a cigar in his mouth, Dan passed slowly to 
 and fro against the lighted windows, and looked up 
 tenderly at the gray sky and the small flying birds. 
 There was a glow in his face, for, with a total cessa- 
 tion of time, he was back in Aunt Ailsey's cabin, 
 and the rain was on the roof. 
 
 In one of those rare moods in which the least 
 subjective mind becomes that of a mystic, he told 
 himself that this hour had waited for him from the 
 beginning of time — had bided patiently at the cross- 
 roads until he came up with it at last. All his life 
 he had been travelling to meet it, not in ignorance, 
 but with half-unconscious knowledge, and all the 
 while the fire had burned brightly on the hearth, 
 and Betty had knelt upon the flat stones drying her 
 hair. Again it seemed to him that he had never 
 looked into a woman's face before, and the shame of 
 his wandering fancies was heavy upon him. He 
 called himself a fool because he had followed for a 
 day the flutter of Virginia's gown, and a dotard for 
 the many loves he had sworn to long before. In the 
 twilight he saw Betty's eyes, grave, accusing, dark- 
 ened with reproach; and he asked himself half 
 hopefully if she cared — if it were possible for a 
 moment that she cared. There had been humour in 
 her smile, but, for all his effort, he could bring back 
 no deeper emotion than pity or disdain — and it 
 seemed to him that both the pity and the disdain 
 were for himself. 
 
 The library window was lifted suddenly, as the 
 
1 82 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Major called out to him that " supper was on its 
 way " ; and, with an impatient movement of the 
 shoulders, he tossed his cigar into the grass and 
 went indoors. 
 
 The next afternoon he rode over to Uplands, and 
 found Virginia alone in the dim, rose-scented par- 
 lour, where the quaint old furniture stood in the 
 gloom of a perpetual solemnity. The girl, herself, 
 made a bright spot of colour against the damask 
 curtains, and as he looked at her he felt the same 
 delight in her loveliness that he felt in Great-aunt 
 Emmeline's. Virginia had become a picture to him, 
 and nothing more. 
 
 When he entered she greeted him with her old 
 friendliness, gave him both her cool white hands, and 
 asked him a hundred shy questions about the coun- 
 tries over sea. She was delicately cordial, demurely 
 glad. 
 
 " It seems an age since you went away," she said 
 flatteringly, " and so many things have happened — 
 one of the big trees blew down on the lawn, and 
 Jack Powell broke his arm — and — and Mr. Mor- 
 son has been back twice, you know." 
 
 " Yes, I know," he answered, " but I rather think 
 the tree's the biggest thing, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Well, it is the biggest," admitted Virginia, 
 sweetly. " I couldn't get my arms halfway round 
 it — and Betty was so distressed when it fell that 
 she cried half the day, just as if it were a human 
 being. Aunt Lydia has been trying to build a rock- 
 ery over the root, and she's going to cover it with 
 portulaca." She went to the long window and 
 pointed out the spot where it had stood. " There 
 
If This Be Love 183 
 
 are so many one hardly misses it," she added cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 At the end of an hour Dan asked timidly for 
 Betty, to hear that she had gone riding earlier with 
 Champe. " She is showing him a new path over 
 the mountain," said Virginia. " I really think she 
 knows them all by heart." 
 
 " I hope she hasn't taken to minding cattle," ob- 
 served Dan, irritably. " I believe in women keeping 
 at home, you know," and as he rose to go he told 
 Virginia that she had " an Irish colour." 
 
 " I have been sitting in the sun," she answered 
 shyly, going back to the window when he left the 
 room. 
 
 Dan went quickly out to Prince Rupert, but with 
 his foot in the stirrup, he saw Miss Lydia training a 
 coral honeysuckle at the end of the portico, and 
 turned away to help her fasten up a broken string. 
 " It blew down yesterday," she explained sadly. 
 " The storm did a great deal of damage to the 
 flowers, and the garden looked almost desolate this 
 morning, but Betty and I worked there until dinner. 
 I tell Betty she must take my place among the 
 flowers, she has such a talent for making them 
 bloom. Why, if you will come into the garden, you 
 will be surprised to see how many summer planU 
 axe still in blossom." 
 
 She spoke wistfully, and Dan looked down on 
 her with a tender reverence which became him 
 strangely. " Why, I shall be delighted to go with 
 you," he answered. " Do you know I never see you 
 without thinking of your roses ? You seem to carry 
 their fragrance in your clothes." There was a touch 
 
1 84 The Battle-Ground 
 
 of the Major's flattery in his manner, but Miss 
 Lydia's pale cheeks flushed with pleasure. 
 
 Smiling faintly, she folded her knitted shawl 
 over her bosom, and he followed her across the 
 grass to the little whitewashed gate of the garden. 
 There she entered softly, as if she were going into 
 church, her light steps barely treading down the 
 tall grass strewn with rose leaves. Beyond the high 
 box borders the gay October roses bent toward her 
 beneath a light wind, and in the square beds tangles 
 of summer plants still flowered untouched by frost. 
 The splendour of the scarlet sage and the delicate 
 clusters of the four-o'clocks and sweet Williams 
 made a single blur of colour in the sunshine, and 
 under the neatly clipped box hedges, blossoms of 
 petunias and verbenas straggled from their trim 
 rows across the walk. 
 
 As he stood beside her, Dan drew in a long breath 
 of the fragrant air. " I declare, it is like standing 
 in a bunch of pinks," he remarked. 
 
 " There has been no hard frost as yet," returned 
 Miss Lydia, looking up at him. " Even the ver- 
 benas were not nipped, and I don't think I ever had 
 them bloom so late. Why, it is almost the first of 
 October." 
 
 - They strolled leisurely up and down the box- 
 bordered paths, Miss Lydia talking in her gentle, 
 monotonous voice, and Dan bending his head as he 
 flicked at the tall grass with his riding-whip. 
 
 " He is a great lover of flowers," said the old 
 lady after he had gone, and thought in her simple 
 heart that she spoke the truth. 
 
 For two days Dan's pride held him back, but the 
 
If This Be Love 185 
 
 third being Sunday, he went over in the afternoon 
 with the pretence of a message from his grand- 
 mother. As the day was mild the great doors were 
 standing open, and from the drive he saw Mrs. 
 Ambler sitting midway of the hall, with her Bible in 
 her hand and her class of little negroes at her feet. 
 Beyond her there was a strip of green and the 
 autumn glory of the garden, and the sunlight com- 
 ing from without fell straight upon the leaves of 
 the open book. 
 
 She was reading from the gospel of St. John, and 
 she did not pause until the chapter was finished; 
 then she looked up and said, smiling : " Shall I ask 
 you to join my class, or will you look for the girls 
 out of doors? Virginia, I think, is in the garden, 
 and Betty has just gone riding down the tavern 
 road." 
 
 " Oh, I'll go after Betty," replied Dan, promptly, 
 and with a gay " good-by " he untied Prince Rupert 
 and started at a canter for the turnpike. 
 
 A quarter of a mile beyond Uplands the tavern 
 road branched off under a deep gloom of forest 
 trees. The white sand of the turnpike gave place to 
 a heavy clay soil, which went to dust in summer and 
 to mud in winter, impeding equally the passage of 
 wheels. On either side a thick wood ran for several 
 miles, and the sunshine filtered in bright drops 
 through the green arch overhead. 
 
 When Dan first caught sight of Betty she was 
 riding in a network of sun and shade, her face lifted 
 to the bit of blue sky that showed between the tree- 
 tops. At the sound of his horse she threw a startled 
 look behind her, and then, drawing aside from the 
 
1 86 The Battle-Ground 
 
 sunken ruts in the " corduroy " road, waited, smil- 
 ing, until he galloped up. 
 
 " Why, it's never you ! " she exclaimed, surprised. 
 
 " Well, that's not my fault, Betty," he gayly re- 
 turned. " If I had my way, I assure you it would be 
 always I. You mustn't blame a fellow for his ill 
 luck, you know." Then he laid his hand on her 
 bridle and faced her sternly. 
 
 " Look here, Betty, you haven't been treating me 
 right," he said. 
 
 She threw out a deprecating little gesture. " Do 
 I need to put on more humility ? " she questioned, 
 humbly. " Is it respect that I have failed in, sir?" 
 
 " Oh, bosh ! " he interposed, rudely. " I want to 
 know why you went riding three afternoons with 
 Champe — it wasn't fair of you, you know." 
 
 Betty sighed sadly. " No one has ever asked me 
 before why I went riding with Champe," she con- 
 fessed, " and the mighty secret has quite gnawed 
 into my heart." 
 
 " Share it with me," begged Dan, gallantly, " only 
 I warn you that I shall have no mercy upon 
 Champe." 
 
 " Poor Champe," said Betty. 
 
 " At least he went riding with' you three after- 
 noons — lucky Champe ! " 
 
 " Ah, so he did ; and must I tell you why ? " 
 
 He nodded. " You shan't go home until you do," 
 he declared grimly. 
 
 Betty reached up and plucked a handful of aspen 
 leaves, scattering them upon the road. 
 
 "By what right, O horse-taming Hector (isn't 
 that the way they talk in Homer?)" 
 
If This Be Love 187 
 
 " By the right of the strongest, O fair Helena 
 (it's the way they talk in translations of Homer)." 
 
 " How very learned you are ! " sighed Betty. 
 
 " How very lovely you are ! " sighed Dan. 
 
 " And you will really force me to tell you ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " For your own sake, don't let it come to that," he 
 replied. 
 
 " But are you sure that you are strong enough to 
 hear it?" 
 
 " I am strong enough for anything," he assured 
 her, " except suspense." 
 
 " Well, if I must, then let me whisper it — I went 
 because — " she drew back, " I implore you not to 
 uproot the forest in your wrath." 
 
 " Speak quickly," urged Dan, impatiently. 
 
 "I -(Went because — brace yourself — I went be- 
 cause he asked me." 
 
 " O Betty ! " he cried, and caught her hand. 
 
 " O Dan ! " she laughed, and drew her hand 
 away. 
 
 " You deserve to be whipped," he went on sternly. 
 " How dare you play with the green-eyed monster 
 I'm wearing on my sleeve? Haven't you heard his 
 growls, madam ? " 
 
 " He's a pretty monster," said Betty. " I should 
 like to pat him." 
 
 " Oh, he needs to be gently stroked, I tell 
 you." 
 
 "Does he wake often — poor monster?" 
 
 Dan lowered his abashed eyes to the road. 
 
 " Well, that — ah, that depends — " he began 
 awkwardly. 
 
1 88 The Battle-Ground 
 
 "Ah, that depends upon your fancies," finished 
 Betty, and rode on rapidly. 
 
 It was a moment before he came up with her, and 
 when he did so his face was flushed. 
 
 "Do you mind about my fancies, Betty?" he 
 asked humbly. 
 
 "I?" said Betty, disdainfully. "Why, what 
 have I to do with them ? " 
 
 " With my fancies ? nothing — so help me God — • 
 nothing." 
 
 "lam glad to hear it," she replied quietly, strok- 
 ing her horse. Her cheeks were glowing and she let 
 the overhanging branches screen her face. As they 
 rode on silently they heard the rustling of the leaves 
 beneath the horses' feet, and the soft wind playing 
 through the forest. A chain of lights and shadows 
 ran before them into the misty purple of the dis- 
 tance, where the dim trees went up like gothic spires. 
 
 Betty's hands were trembling, but fearing the 
 stillness, she spoke in a careless voice. 
 
 " When do you go back to college ? " she inquired 
 politely. 
 
 " In two days — but it's all the same to you, I 
 dare say." 
 
 " Indeed it isn't. I shall be very sorry." 
 
 " You needn't lie to me," he returned irritably. 
 " I beg your pardon, but a lie is a lie, you know." 
 
 " So I suppose, but I wasn't lying — I shall be 
 very sorry." 
 
 A fiery maple branch fell between them, and he 
 impatiently thrust it aside. 
 
 " When you treat me like this you raise the devil 
 in me," he said angrily. " As I told you before, 
 
If This Be Love 189 
 
 Betty, when I'm not Lightfoot I'm Montjoy — it 
 may be this that makes you plague me so." 
 
 " O Dan, Dan ! " she laughed, but in a moment 
 added gravely : " When you're neither Lightfoot 
 nor Montjoy, you're just yourself, and it's then, 
 after all, that I like you best. Shall we turn now ? " 
 She wheeled her horse about on the rustling leaves, 
 and they started toward the sunset light shining far 
 up the road. 
 
 " When you like me best," said Dan, passionately. 
 " Betty, when is that ? " His ardent look was on 
 her face, and she, defying her fears, met it with 
 her beaming eyes. " When you're just yourself, 
 Dan," she answered and galloped on. Her lips were 
 smiling, but there was a prayer in her heart, for it 
 cried, " Dear God, let him love me, let him love 
 me. 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 9 
 
mm 
 
 betty's unbelief: 
 
 "Dear God, let him love me," she prayed again 
 in the cool twilight of her chamber. Before the 
 open window she put her hands to her burning 
 cheeks and felt the wind trickle between her quiver- 
 ing fingers. Her heart fluttered like a bird and her 
 blood went in little tremours through her veins. 
 For a single instant she seemed to feel the passage 
 of the earth through space. " Oh, let him love me ! 
 let him love me ! " she cried upon her knees. 
 
 When Virginia came in she rose and turned to 
 her with the brightness of tears on her lashes. 
 
 " Do you want me to help you, dear ? " she asked, 
 gently. 
 
 " Oh, I'm all dressed," answered Virginia, com- 
 ing toward her. She held a lamp in her hand, and 
 the light fell over her girlish figure in its muslin 
 gown. " You are so late, Betty," she added, stop- 
 ping before the bureau. " Were you by yourself ? " 
 
 " Not all the way," replied Betty, slowly. 
 
 " Who was with you ? Champe ? " 
 
 " No, not Champe — Dan," said Betty, stooping 
 to unfasten her boots. 
 
 Virginia was pinning a red verbena in her hair, 
 and she turned to catch a side view of her face. 
 
 " Do you know I really believe Dan likes you 
 190 
 
Betty's Unbelief 191 
 
 best," she carelessly remarked. " I asked him the 
 other afternoon what colour hair he preferred, and 
 he snapped out, ' red ' as suddenly as that. Wasn't 
 it funny ? " 
 
 For a moment Betty did not speak; then she 
 came over and stood beside her sister. 
 
 " Would you mind if he liked me better than you, 
 dear ? " she asked, doubtfully. " Would you mind 
 the least little bit ? " 
 
 Virginia laughed merrily and stooped to kiss her. 
 
 " I shouldn't mind if every man in the world 
 liked you better," she answered gayly. " If they 
 only had as much sense as I've got, they would, 
 foolish things." 
 
 " I never knew but one who did," returned Betty, 
 " and that was the Major." 
 
 " But Champe, too." 
 
 " Well, perhaps, — but Champe's afraid of you. 
 He calls you Penelope, you know, because of the 
 ' wooers.' We counted six horses at the portico 
 yesterday, and he made a bet with me that all of 
 them belonged to the 'wooers ' — and they really 
 did, too." 
 
 " Oh, but wooing isn't winning," laughed Vir- 
 ginia, going toward the door. " You'd better 
 hurry, Betty, supper's ready. I wouldn't touch my 
 hair, if I were you, it looks just lovely." Her white 
 skirts fluttered across the dimly lighted hall, and 
 in a moment Betty heard her soft step on the stair. 
 
 Two days later Betty told Dan good-by with 
 smiling lips. He rode over in the early morning, 
 when she was in the garden gathering loose rose 
 leaves to scatter among her clothes. There had been 
 
192 The Battle- Ground 
 
 a sharp frost the night before, and now as it melted 
 in the slanting sun rays, Miss Lydia's summer 
 flowers hung blighted upon their stalks. Only the 
 gay October roses were still in their full splendour. 
 
 " What an early Betty," said Dan, coming up to 
 her as she stood in the wet grass beside one of the 
 quaint rose squares. " You are all dewy like a 
 flower." 
 
 " Oh, I had breakfast an hour ago," she answered, 
 giving him her moist hand to which a few petals 
 were clinging. 
 
 " Ye Gods! have I missed an hour? Why, I ex- 
 pected to sit waiting on the door-step until you had 
 had your sleep out." 
 
 " Don't you know if you gather rose leaves 
 with the dew on them, their sweetness lasts twice 
 as long ? " asked Betty. 
 
 " So you got up to gather ye rosebuds, after all, 
 and not to wish me God speed?" he said despond- 
 ently. 
 
 " Well, I should have been up anyway," replied 
 Betty, frankly. " This is the loveliest part of the 
 day, you know. The world looks so fresh with the 
 first frost over it — only the poor silly summer 
 flowers take cold and die." 
 
 "If you weren't a rose, you'd take cold yourself," 
 remarked Dan, pointing, with his riding-whip, to 
 the hem of her dimity skirt. " Don't stand in the 
 grass like that, you make me shiver." 
 
 " Oh, the sun will dry me," she laughed, stepping 
 from the path to the bare earth of the rose bed. 
 " Why, when you get well into the sunshine it 
 feels like summer." She talked on merrily, and he, 
 
Betty's Unbelief 193 
 
 paying small heed to what she said, kept his ardent 
 look upon her face. His joy was in her bright 
 presence, in the beauty of her smile, in the kind 
 eyes that shone upon him. Speech meant so little 
 when he could put out his arm and touch her if he 
 dared. 
 
 " I am going away in an hour, Betty," he said, 
 at last. 
 
 " But you will be back again at Christmas." 
 
 " At Christmas ! Heavens alive ! You speak as 
 if it were to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, but time goes very quickly, you know." 
 
 Dan shook his head impatiently. " I dare say it 
 does with you," he returned, irritably, " but it 
 wouldn't if you were as much in love as I am." 
 
 " Why, you ought to be used to it by now," urged 
 Betty, mercilessly. " You were in love last year, 
 I remember." 
 
 " Betty, don't punish me for what I couldn't help. 
 You know I love you." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Betty, nervously plucking rose 
 leaves. " You have been too often in love before, 
 my good Dan." 
 
 " But I was never in love with you before," re- 
 torted Dan, decisively. 
 
 She shook her head, smiling. " And you are not 
 in love with me now," she replied, gravely. " You 
 have found out that my hair is pretty, or that I can 
 mix a pudding ; but I do not often let down my hair, 
 and I seldom cook, so you'll get over it, my friend, 
 never fear." 
 
 He flushed angrily. " And if I do not get over 
 it? " he demanded. 
 
194 The Battle-Ground 
 
 "If you do not get over it?" repeated Betty, 
 trembling. She turned away from him, strewing a 
 handful of rose leaves upon the grass. " Then I 
 shall think that you value neither my hair nor my; 
 housekeeping," she added, lightly. 
 
 " If I swear that I love you, will you believe me, 
 Betty?" 
 
 " Don't tempt my faith, Dan, it's too small." 
 
 " Whether you believe it or not, I do love you," 
 he went on. " I may have been a fool now and then 
 before I found it out, but you don't think that was 
 falling in love, do you ? I confess that I liked a pair 
 of fine eyes or rosy cheeks, but I could laugh about 
 it even while I thought it was love I felt. I can't 
 laugh about being in love with you, Betty." 
 
 " I thank you, sir," replied Betty, saucily. 
 
 " When I saw you kneeling by the fire in free 
 Levi's cabin, I knew that I loved you," he said, 
 hotly. 
 
 " But I can't always kneel to you, Dan," she in- 
 terposed. 
 
 He put her words impatiently aside, " and what's 
 more I knew then that I had loved you all my life 
 without knowing it," he pursued. " You may taunt 
 me with fickleness, but I'm not fickle — I was merely 
 a fool. It took me a long time to find out what I 
 wanted, but I've found out at last, and, so help me 
 God, I'll have it yet. I never went without a thing 
 I wanted in my life." 
 
 " Then it will be good for you," responded Betty. 
 " Shall I put some rose leaves into your pocket ? " 
 She spoke indifferently, but all the while she heard 
 her heart singing for joy. 
 
Betty's Unbelief 195 
 
 In the rage of his boyish passion, he cut brutally 
 at the flowers growing at his feet. 
 
 " If you keep this up, you'll send me to the devil ! " 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 She caught his hand and took the whip from his 
 fingers. " Ah, don't hurt the poor flowers," she 
 begged, " they aren't to blame." 
 
 " Who is to blame, Betty ? " 
 
 She looked up wistfully into his angry face. 
 " You are no better than a child. Dan," she said, 
 almost sadly. " and you haven't the least idea what 
 you are storming so about. It's time you were a 
 man, but you aren't, you're just — " 
 
 " Oh, I know, I'm just a pampered poodle dog," 
 he finished, bitterly. 
 
 " Well, you ought to be something better, and 
 you must be." 
 
 " I'll be anything you please, Betty ; I'll be Pres- 
 ident, if you wish it." 
 
 " No, thank you, I don't care in the least for 
 Presidents." 
 
 " Then I'll be a beggar, you like beggars." 
 
 " You'll be just yourself, if you want to please 
 me, Dan," she said earnestly. " You will be 
 your best self — neither the flattering Light- 
 foot, nor the rude Mont joy. You will learn 
 to work, to wait patiently, and to love one 
 woman. Whoever she may be, I shall say, God 
 bless her." 
 
 " God bless her, Betty," he echoed fervently, and 
 added, " Since it's a man you want, I'll be a man, 
 but I almost wish you had said a President, I 
 could have been one for you, Betty." 
 
196 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Then he held out his hand. " I don't suppose you 
 will kiss me good-by ? " he pleaded. 
 
 " No, I shan't kiss you good-by," she answered. 
 
 "Never, Betty?" 
 
 Smiling brightly, she gave him her hand. " When 
 you have loved me two years, perhaps, — or when 
 you marry another woman. Good-by, dear, 
 good-by." 
 
 He turned quickly away and went up the little 
 path to the gate. There he paused for an instant, 
 looked back, and waved his hand. " Good-by, my 
 darling ! " he called, boldly, and passed under the 
 honeysuckle arbour. As he mounted his horse in 
 the drive he saw her still standing as he had left her, 
 the roses falling about her, and the sunshine full 
 upon her bended head. 
 
 Until he was hidden by the trees she watched 
 him breathlessly, then, kneeling in the path, she laid 
 her cheek upon the long grass he had trodden un- 
 derfoot. " O my love, my love," she whispered to 
 the ground. 
 
 Miss Lydia called her from the house, and she 
 went to her with some loose roses in her muslin 
 apron. " Did you call me, Aunt Lydia ? " she 
 asked, lifting her radiant eyes to the old lady's face. 
 " I haven't gathered very many leaves." 
 
 " I wanted you to pot some white violets for 
 me, dear," answered Miss Lydia, from the back 
 steps. " My winter garden is almost full, but there's 
 a spot where I can put a few violets. Poor Mr. Bill 
 asked for a geranium for his window, so I let him 
 take one." 
 
 " Oh, let me pot them for you," begged Betty, 
 
Betty's Unbelief 197 
 
 eager to be of service. " Send Petunia for the 
 trowel, and I'll choose you a lovely plant. It's too 
 bad to see all the dear verbenas bitten by the frost." 
 She tossed a rose into Miss Lydia's hands, and went 
 back gladly into the garden. 
 
 A fortnight after this the Major came over and 
 besought her to return with him for a week at 
 Chericoke. Mrs. Lightfoot had taken to her bed, 
 he said sadly, and the whole place was rapidly fall- 
 ing to rack and ruin. " We need your hands to 
 put it straight again," he added, " and Molly told 
 me on no account to come back without you. I am 
 at your mercy, my dear." 
 
 " Why, I should love to go," replied Betty, with 
 the thought of Dan at her heart. " I'll be ready in a 
 minute," and she ran upstairs to find her mother, 
 and to pack her things. 
 
 The Major waited for her standing; and when 
 she came down, followed by Petunia with her 
 clothes, he helped her, with elaborate courtesy, into 
 the old coach before the portico. 
 
 " It takes me back to my wedding day, Betty," 
 he said, as he stepped in after her and slammed the 
 door. " It isn't often that I carry off a pretty girl 
 so easily." 
 
 " Now I know that you didn't carry off Mrs. 
 Lightfoot easily," returned Betty, laughing from 
 sheer lightness of spirits. " She has tolci me the 
 whole story, sir, from the evening that she wore the 
 peach-blow brocade, that made you fall in love with 
 her on the spot, to the day that she almost broke 
 down at the altar. You had a narrow escape from 
 bachelorship, sir, so you needn't boast." 
 
198 The Battle-Ground 
 
 The Major chuckled in his corner. "I don'f 
 doubt that Molly told you so," he replied, " but, be- 
 tween you and me, I don't believe it ever occurred 
 to her until forty years afterwards. She got it 
 out of one of those silly romances she reads in bed 
 — and, take my word for it, you'll find it some- 
 where in the pages of her Mrs. Radcliffe, or her 
 Miss Burney. Molly's a sensible woman, my 
 child, — I'm the last man to deny it — but she al- 
 ways did read trash. You won't believe me, I dare 
 say, but she actually tried to faint when I kissed 
 her in the carriage after her wedding — and, bless 
 my soul, I came to find that she had ' Evelina ' 
 tucked away under her cape." 
 
 " Why, she is the most sensible woman in the 
 world," said Betty, " and I'm quite sure that she 
 was only fitting herself to your ideas, sir. No, you 
 can't make me believe it of Mrs. Lightfoot." 
 
 " My ideas never took the shape of an Evelina," 
 dissented the Major, warmly, " but it's a dangerous 
 taste, my dear, the taste for trash. I've always said 
 that it ruined poor Jane, with all her pride. She 
 got into her head all kind of notions about that 
 scamp Mont joy, with his pale face and his long 
 black hair. Poor girl, poor girl! I tried to bring 
 her up on Homer and Milton, but she took to her 
 mother's bookshelf as a duck to water." He wiped 
 his eyes, and Betty patted his hand, and wondered if 
 " the scamp Mont joy " looked the least bit like his 
 son. 
 
 When they reached Chericoke she shook hands 
 with the servants and ran upstairs to Mrs. Light- 
 foot's chamber. The old lady, in her ruffled night- 
 
Betty's Unbelief 199 
 
 cap, which she always put on when she took to 
 bed, was sitting upright under her dimity curtains, 
 weeping over " Thaddeus of Warsaw." There was 
 a little bookstand at her bedside filled with her 
 favourite romances, and at the beginning of the 
 year she would start systematically to read from the 
 first volume upon the top shelf to the last one ia 
 the corner near the door. " None of your new- 
 fangled writers for me, my dear," she would pro- 
 test, snapping her fingers at literature. " Why, 
 they haven't enough sentiment to give their hero a 
 title — and an untitled hero ! I declare, I'd as lief 
 have a plain heroine, and, before you know it, they'll 
 be writing about their Sukey Sues, with pug noses, 
 who eloped with their Bill Bates, from the nearest 
 butcher shop. Ugh ! don't talk to me about them ! 
 I opened one of Mr. Dickens's stories the other day 
 and it was actually about a chimney sweep — a 
 common chimney sweep from a workhouse! 
 Why, I really felt as if I had been keeping low 
 society." 
 
 Now, as she caught sight of Betty, she laid aside 
 her book, wiped her eyes on a stiffly folded hand- 
 kerchief, and became cheerful at once. " I warned 
 Mr. Lightfoot not to dare to show his face without 
 you," she began ; " so I suppose he brought you off 
 by force." 
 
 " I was only too glad to come," replied Betty, 
 kissing her ; " but what must I do for you first ? 
 Shall I rub your head with bay rum?" 
 
 " There's nothing on earth the matter with my 
 head, child," retorted Mrs. Lightfoot, promptly, 
 *' but you may go downstairs, as soon as you take 
 
aoo The Battle- Ground 
 
 off your things, and make me some decent tea and 
 toast. Cupid brought me up two waiters at dinner, 
 and I wouldn't touch either of them with a ten- 
 foot pole." 
 
 Betty took off her bonnet and shawl and hung 
 them on a chair. " I'll go down at once and see 
 about it," she answered, " and I'll make Car'line 
 put away my things. It's my old room I'm to have, 
 I suppose." 
 
 " It's the whole house, if you want it, only don't 
 let any of the darkies have a hand at my tea. It's 
 their nature to slop." 
 
 " But it isn't mine," Betty answered her, and ran, 
 laughing, down into the dining room. 
 
 " Dar ain' been no sich chunes sense young Miss 
 rid away in de dead er de night time," muttered 
 Cupid, in the pantry. " Lawd, Lawd, I des wish 
 you'd teck up wid Marse Champe, en move 'long 
 over hyer fer good en all. I reckon dar 'ud be times, 
 den, I reckon, dar 'ould." 
 
 " There are going to be times now, Uncle Cupid," 
 responded Betty, cheerfully, as she arranged the 
 tray for Mrs. Lightfoot. " I'm going to make some 
 tea and toast right on this fire for your old Miss. 
 You bring the kettle, and I'll slice the bread." 
 
 Cupid brought the kettle, grumbling. " I ain' 
 never hyern tell er sich a mouf es ole Miss es got," 
 he muttered. " I ain' sayin' nuttin' agin er stom- 
 ick, case she ain' never let de stuff git down dat 
 fur — en de stomick hit ain' never tase it yit." 
 
 " Oh, stop grumbling, Uncle Cupid," returned 
 Betty, moving briskly about the room. She brought 
 the daintiest tea cup from the old sideboard, and 
 
Betty's Unbelief 201 
 
 leaned out of the window to pluck a late micro- 
 phylla rosebud from the creeper upon the porch. 
 Then, with the bread on the end of a long 
 fork, she sat before the fire and asked Cupid 
 about the health and fortunes of the house servants 
 and the field hands. 
 
 " I ain' mix wid no fiel' han's," grunted Cupid, 
 with a social pride befitting the Major. " Dar ain' 
 no use er my mixin' en I ain' mix. Dey stay in dere 
 place en I stay in my place — en dere place hit's 
 de quarters, en my place hit's de dinin' '00m." 
 
 " But Aunt Rhody — how's she ? " inquired Betty, 
 pleasantly, " and Big Abel ? He didn't go back to 
 college, did he ? " 
 
 " Zeke, he went," replied Cupid, " en Big Abel 
 he wuz bleeged ter stay behint 'case his wife Saphiry 
 she des put 'er foot right down. Ef'n he 'uz gwine 
 off again, sez she, she 'uz des gwine tu'n right in en 
 git mah'ed agin. She ain' so sho', nohow, dat two 
 husban's ain' better'n one, is Saphiry, en she got 
 'mos' a min' ter try hit. So Big Abel he des stayed 
 behint." 
 
 " That was wise of Big Abel," remarked Betty. 
 " Now open the door, Uncle Cupid, and I'll carry 
 this upstairs," and as Cupid threw open the door, 
 she went out, holding the tray before her. 
 
 The old lady received her graciously, ate the 
 toast and drank the tea, and even admitted that 
 it couldn't have been better if she had made it with 
 her own hands. " I think that you will have to 
 come and live with me, Betty," she said good- 
 humouredly. " What a pity you can't fancy one of 
 those useless boys of mine. Not that I'd have you 
 
202 The Battle-Ground 
 
 marry Dan, child, the Major has spoiled him to 
 death, and now he's beginning to repent it; but 
 Champe, Champe is a good and clever lad and 
 would make a mild and amiable husband, I am 
 sure. Don't marry a man with too much spirit, my 
 dear; if a man has any extra spirit, he usually ex- 
 pends it in breaking his wife's." 
 
 " Oh, I shan't marry yet awhile," replied Betty, 
 looking out upon the falling autumn leaves. 
 
 " So I said the day before I married Mr. Light- 
 foot," rejoined the old lady, settling her pillows, 
 " and now, if you have nothing better to do, you 
 might read me a chapter of ' Thaddeus of Warsaw ' ; 
 you will find it to be a book of very pretty senti- 
 ment." 
 
IX 
 
 THE MONTJOY BLOOD 
 
 In the morning Betty was awakened by the tap- 
 ping of the elm boughs on the roof above her. An 
 autumn wind was blowing straight from the west, 
 and when she looked out through the small greenish 
 panes of glass, she saw eddies of yellowed leaves 
 beating gently against the old brick walls. Over- 
 head light gray clouds were flying across the sky, 
 and beyond the waving tree-tops a white mist hung 
 above the dim blue chain of mountains. 
 
 When she went downstairs she found the Major, 
 in his best black broadcloth, pacing up and down 
 before the house. It was Sunday, and he intended to 
 drive into town where the rector held his services. 
 
 " You won't go in with me,- 1 reckon ? " he ven- 
 tured hopefully, when Betty smiled out upon him 
 from the library window. " Ah, my dear, you're as 
 fresh as the morning, and only an old man to look 
 at you. Well, well, age has its consolations ; you'll 
 spare me a kiss, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Then you must come in to get it," answered 
 Betty, her eyes narrowing. " Breakfast is getting 
 cold, and Cupid is calling down Aunt Rhody's wrath 
 upon your head." 
 
 " Oh, I'll come, I'll come," returned the Major, 
 hurrying up the steps, and adding as he entered the 
 203 
 
204 The Battle-Ground 
 
 dining room, " My child, if you'd only take a fancy 
 to Champe, I'd be the happiest man on earth." 
 
 " Now I shan't allow any matchmaking on Sun- 
 day," said Betty, warningly, as she prepared Mrs. 
 Lightfoot's breakfast. " Sit down and carve the 
 chicken while I run upstairs with this." 
 
 She went out and came back in a moment, laugh- 
 ing merrily. " Do you know, she threatens to be- 
 come bedridden now that I am here to fix her trays," 
 she explained, sitting down between the tall silver 
 urns and pouring out the Major's coffee. " What 
 an uncertain day you have for church," she added as 
 she gave his cup to Cupid. 
 
 With his eyes on her vivid face the old man lis- 
 tened rapturously to her fresh young voice — the 
 voice, he said, that always made him think of clear 
 water falling over stones. It was one of the things 
 that came to her from Peyton Ambler, he knew, 
 with her warm hazel eyes and the sweet, strong 
 curve of her mouth. " Ah, but you're like your 
 father," he said as he watched her. " If you had 
 brown hair you'd be his very image." 
 
 " I used to wish that I had," responded Betty, 
 " but I don't now — I'd just as soon have red." She 
 was thinking that Dan did not like brown hair so 
 much, and the thought shone in her face — only the 
 Major, in his ignorance, mistook its meaning. 
 
 After breakfast he got into the coach and started 
 off, and Betty, with the key basket on her arm, fol- 
 lowed Cupid and Aunt Rhody into the storeroom. 
 Then she gathered fresh flowers for the table, and 
 went upstairs to read a chapter from the Bible to 
 Mrs. Lightfoot. 
 
The Montjoy Blood 205 
 
 The Major stayed to dinner in town, returning 
 late in a moody humour and exhausted by his drive. 
 As Betty brushed her hair before her bureau, she 
 heard him talking in a loud voice to Mrs. Lightfoot, 
 and when she went in at supper time the old lady 
 called her to her bedside and took her hand. 
 
 " He has had a touch of the gout, Betty," she 
 whispered in her ear, " and he heard some news in 
 town which upset him a little. You must try to 
 cheer him up at supper, child." 
 
 " Was it bad news ? " asked Betty, in alarm. 
 
 " It may not be true, my dear. I hope it isn't, 
 but, as I told Mr. Lightfoot, it is always better to 
 believe the worst, so if any surprise comes it may be 
 a pleasant one. Somebody told him in church — and 
 they had much better have been attending to the 
 service, I'm sure, — that Dan had gotten into trouble 
 again, and Mr. Lightfoot is very angry about it. 
 He had a talk with the boy before he went away, 
 and made him promise to turn over a new leaf this 
 year — but it seems this is the most serious thing 
 that has happened yet. I must say I always told 
 Mr. Lightfoot it was what he had to expect." 
 
 " In trouble again ? " repeated Betty, kneeling by 
 the bed. Her hands went cold, and she pressed them 
 nervously together. 
 
 " Of course we know very little about it, my dear," 
 pursued Mrs. Lightfoot. " All we have heard is 
 that he fought a duel and was sent away from the 
 University. He was even put into gaol for a night, 
 I believe— -a Lightfoot in a common dirty gaol! 
 Well, well, as I said before, all we can do now is to 
 expect the worst." 
 
io6 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " Oh, is that all ? " cried Betty, and the leaping of 
 her heart told her the horror of her dim foreboding. 
 She rose to her feet and smiled brightly down upon 
 the astonished old lady. 
 
 " I don't know what more you want," replied 
 Mrs. Lightfoot, tartly. " If he ever gets clean 
 again after a whole night in a common gaol, I must 
 say I don't see how he'll manage it. But if you 
 aren't satisfied I can only tell you that the affair was 
 all about some bar-room wench, and that the papers 
 will be full of it. Not that the boy was anything but 
 foolish," she added hastily. " I'll do him the justice 
 to admit that he's more of a fool than a villain — - 
 and I hardly know whether it's a compliment that 
 I'm paying him or not. He got some quixotic no- 
 tion into his head that Harry Maupin insulted the 
 girl in his presence, and he called him to account 
 for it. As if the honour of a barkeeper's daughter 
 was the concern of any gentleman ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Betty, and caught her breath. The 
 word went out of her in a sudden burst of joy, but 
 the joy was so sharp that a moment afterwards she 
 hid her wet face in the bedclothes and sobbed softly 
 to herself. 
 
 " I don't think Mr. Lightfoot would have taken it 
 so hard but for Virginia," said the old lady, with her 
 keen eyes on the girl. " You know he has always 
 wanted to bring Dan and Virginia together, and he 
 seems to think that the boy has been dishonourable 
 about it." 
 
 " But Virginia doesn't care — she doesn't care," 
 protested Betty. 
 
 " Well, I'm glad to hear it," returned Mrs. Light- 
 
The Montjoy Blood 207 
 
 foot, relieved, " and I hope the foolish boy will stay 
 away long enough for his grandfather to cool off. 
 Mr. Lightfoot is a high-tempered man, my child. 
 I've spent fifty years in keeping him at peace with 
 the world. There now, run down and cheer him 
 up." 
 
 She lay back among her pillows, and Betty leaned 
 over and kissed her with cold lips before she dried 
 her eyes and went downstairs to find the Major. 
 
 With the first glance at his face she saw that Dan's 
 cause was hopeless for the hour, and she set herself, 
 with a cheerful countenance, to a discussion of the 
 trivial happenings of the day. She talked pleasantly 
 of the rector's sermon, of the morning reading with 
 Mrs. Lightfoot, and of a great hawk that had ap- 
 peared suddenly in the air and raised an outcry 
 among the turkeys on the lawn. When these topics 
 were worn threadbare she bethought herself of the 
 beauty of the autumn woods, and lamented the 
 ruined garden with its last sad flowers. 
 
 The Major listened gloomily, putting in a word 
 now and then, and keeping his weak red eyes upon 
 his plate. There was a heavy cloud on his brow, 
 and the flush that Betty had learned to dread was in 
 his face. Once when she spoke carelessly of Dan, 
 he threw out an angry gesture and inquired if she 
 " found Mrs. Lightfoot easier to-night ? " 
 
 " Oh, I think so," replied the girl, and then, as 
 they rose from the table, she slipped her hand 
 through his arm and went with him into the library. 
 
 " Shall I sit with you this evening ? " she asked 
 timidly. " I'd be §0 glad to read to you, if you 
 would let me." 
 
2o8 The Battle-Ground 
 
 He shook his head, patted her affectionately upon 
 the shoulder, and smiled down into her upraised 
 face. " No, no, my dear, I've a little work to do," 
 he replied kindly. " There are a few papers I want 
 to look over, so run up to Molly and tell her I sent 
 my sunshine to her." 
 
 He stooped and kissed her cheek ; and Betty, with 
 a troubled heart, went slowly up to Mrs. Lightfoot's 
 chamber. 
 
 The Major sat down at his writing table, and 
 spread his papers out before him. Then he raised 
 the wick of his lamp, and with his pen in his hand, 
 resolutely set himself to his task. When Cupid came 
 in with the decanter of Burgundy, he filled a glass 
 and held it absently against the light, but he did not 
 drink it, and in a moment he put it down with so 
 tremulous a hand that the wine spilled upon the 
 floor. 
 
 " I've a touch of the gout, Cupid," he said testily. 
 " A touch of the gout that's been hanging over me 
 for a month or more." 
 
 " Huccome you ain' fit hit, Ole Marster ? " 
 
 " Oh, I've been fighting it tooth and nail," an- 
 swered the old gentleman, " but there are some 
 things that always get the better of you in the end, 
 Cupid, and the gout's one of them." 
 
 " En rheumaticks hit's anurr," added Cupid, rub- 
 bing his knee. 
 
 He rolled a fresh log upon the andirons and went 
 out, while the Major returned, frowning, to his 
 work. 
 
 He was still at his writing table, when He heard 
 the sound of a horse trotting in the drive, and an 
 
The Montjoy Blood 209 
 
 instant afterwards the quick fall of the old brass 
 knocker. The flush deepened in his face, and with 
 a look at once angry and appealing, he half rose 
 from his chair. As he waited the outside bars were 
 withdrawn, there followed a few short steps across 
 the hall, and Dan came into the library. 
 
 " I suppose you know what's brought me back, 
 grandpa ? " he said quietly as he entered. 
 
 The Major started up and then sat down again. 
 
 " I do know, sir, and I wish to God I didn't," he 
 replied, choking in his anger. 
 
 Dan stood where he had halted upon his entrance, 
 and looked at him with eyes in which there was still 
 a defiant humour. His face was pale and his hair 
 hung in black streaks across his forehead. The 
 white dust of the turnpike had settled upon his 
 clothes, and as he moved it floated in a little cloud 
 about him. 
 
 " I reckon you think it's a pretty bad thing, eh? " 
 he questioned coolly, though his hands trembled. 
 
 The Major's eyes flashed ominously from beneath 
 his heavy brows. 
 
 " Pretty bad? " he repeated, taking a long breath. 
 " If you want to know what I think about it, sir, I 
 think that it's a damnable disgrace. Pretty bad ! — • 
 By God, sir, do you call having a gaol-bird for a 
 grandson pretty bad ? " 
 
 " Stop, sir ! " called Dan, sharply. He had 
 steadied himself to withstand the shock of the 
 Major's temper, but, in the dash of his youthful 
 folly, he had forgotten to reckon with his own. 
 " For heaven's sake, let's talk about it calmly," he 
 added irritably. 
 
210 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " I am perfectly calm, sir ! " thundered the Major, 
 rising to his feet. The terrible flush went in a wave 
 to his forehead, and he put up one quivering hand 
 to loosen his high stock. " I tell you calmly that 
 you've done a damnable thing ; that you've brought 
 disgrace upon the name of Lightfoot." 
 
 " It is not my name," replied Dan, lifting his 
 head. " My name is Montjoy, sir." 
 
 " And it's a name to hang a dog for," retorted the 
 Major. 
 
 As they faced each other with the same flash of 
 temper kindling in both faces, the likeness between 
 them grew suddenly more striking. It was as if the 
 spirit of the fiery old man had risen, in a finer and 
 younger shape, from the air before him. 
 
 " At all events it is not yours," said Dan, hotly. 
 Then he came nearer, and the anger died out of his 
 eyes. " Don't let's quarrel, grandpa," he pleaded. 
 " I've gotten into a mess, and I'm sorry for it — on 
 my word I am." 
 
 " So you've come whining to me to get you out," 
 returned the Major, shaking as if he had gone sud- 
 denly palsied. 
 
 Dan drew back and his hand fell to his side. 
 
 " So help me God, I'll never whine to you again," 
 he answered. 
 
 " Do you want to know what you have done, 
 sir?" demanded the Major. "You have broken 
 your grandmother's heart and mine — and made us 
 wish that we had left you by the roadside when you 
 came crawling to our door. And, on my oath, if I 
 had known that the day would ever come when you 
 would try to murder a Virginia gentleman for the 
 
The Montjoy Blood in 
 
 sake of a bar-room hussy, I would have left you 
 there, sir." 
 
 " Stop ! " said Dan again, looking at the old man 
 with his mother's eyes. 
 
 " You have broken your grandmother's heart and 
 mine," repeated the Major, in a trembling voice, 
 " and I pray to God that you may not break Virginia 
 Ambler's — poor girl, poor girl ! " 
 
 "Virginia Ambler!" said Dan, slowly. "Why, 
 there was nothing between us, nothing, nothing." 
 
 " And you dare to tell me this to my face, sir ? " 
 cried the Major. 
 
 " Dare ! of course I dare," returned Dan, defi- 
 antly. " If there was ever anything at all it was 
 upon my side only — and a mere trifling fancy." 
 
 The old gentleman brought his hand down upon 
 his table with a blow that sent the papers fluttering 
 to the floor. " Trifling ! " he roared. " Would you 
 trifle with a lady from your own state, sir ? " 
 
 " I was never in love with her," exclaimed Dan, 
 angrily. 
 
 " Not in love with her? What business have you 
 not to be in love with her?" retorted the Major, 
 tossing back his long white hair. " I have given 
 her to understand that you are in love with her, 
 sir." 
 
 The blood rushed to Dan's head, and he stumbled 
 over an ottoman as he turned away. 
 
 " Then I call it unwarrantable interference," he 
 said brutally, and went toward the door. There the 
 Major's flashing eyes held him back an instant. 
 
 " It was when I believed you to be worthy of 
 her," went on the old man, relentlessly, " when — 
 
212 The Battle-Ground 
 
 fool that I was — I dared to hope that dirty blood 
 could be made clean again; that Jack Montjoy's son 
 could be a gentleman." 
 
 For a moment only Dan stood motionless and 
 looked at him from the threshold. Then, without 
 speaking, he crossed the hall, took down his hat, and 
 unbarred the outer door. It slammed after him, and 
 he went out into the night. 
 
 A keen wind was still blowing, and as he de- 
 scended the steps he felt it lifting the dampened 
 hair from his forehead. With a breath of relief he 
 stood bareheaded in the drive and raised his face to 
 the cool elm leaves that drifted slowly down. After 
 the heated atmosphere of the library there was 
 something pleasant in the mere absence of light, 
 and in the soft rustling of the branches overhead. 
 The humour of his blood went suddenly quiet as if 
 he had plunged headlong into cold water. 
 
 While he stood there motionless his thoughts were 
 suspended, and his senses, gaining a brief mastery, 
 became almost feverishly alert; he felt the night 
 wind in his face, he heard the ceaseless stirring of 
 the leaves, and he saw the sparkle of the gravel in 
 the yellow shine that streamed from the library 
 windows. But with his first step, his first move- 
 ment, there came a swift recoil of his anger, and he 
 told himself with a touch of youthful rhetoric, " that 
 come what would, he was going to the devil — and 
 going speedily." 
 
 He had reached the gate and his hand was upon 
 the latch, when he heard the house door open and 
 shut behind him and his name called softly from 
 the steps. 
 
The Montjoy Blood 213 
 
 He turned impulsively and stood waiting, while 
 Betty came quickly through the lamplight that fell 
 in squares upon the drive. 
 
 " Oh, come back, Dan, come back," she said 
 breathlessly. 
 
 With his hand still on the gate he faced her, 
 frowning. 
 
 " I'd die first, Betty," he answered. 
 
 She came swiftly up to him and stood, very pale, 
 in the faint starlight that shone between the broken 
 clouds. A knitted shawl was over her shoulders, 
 but her head was bare and her hair made a glow 
 around her face. Her eyes entreated him before 
 she spoke. 
 
 " Oh, Dan, come back," she pleaded. 
 
 He laughed angrily and shook his head. 
 
 " I'll die first, Betty," he repeated. " Die ! I'd 
 die a hundred times first ! " 
 
 " He is so old," she said appealingly. " It is not 
 as if he were young and quite himself, Dan — Oh, 
 it is not like that — but he loves you, and he is so 
 old." 
 
 " Don't, Betty," he broke in quickly, and added 
 bitterly, " Are you, too, against me ? " 
 
 " I am for the best in you," she answered quietly, 
 and turned away from him. 
 
 " The best ! " he snapped his fingers impatiently. 
 " Are you for the shot at Maupin ? the night I spent 
 in gaol ? or the beggar I am now ? There's an equal 
 choice, I reckon." 
 
 She looked gravely up at him. 
 
 " I am for the boy I've always known," she re- 
 plied, " and for the man who was here two weeks 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 10 
 
214 The Battle-Ground 
 
 ago — and — yes, I am for the man who stands 
 here now. What does it matter, Dan? What does 
 it matter ? " 
 
 " O, Betty ! " he cried breathlessly, and hid his 
 face in his hands. 
 
 " And most of all, I am for the man you 
 are going to be," she went on slowly, " for the 
 great man who is growing up. Dan, come 
 back!" 
 
 His hands fell from his eyes. " I'll not do that 
 even for you, Betty," he answered, " and, God 
 knows, there's little else I wouldn't do for you — 
 there's nothing else." 
 
 " What will you do for yourself, Dan? " 
 
 " For myself ? " his anger leaped out again, and 
 he steadied himself against the gate. " For myself 
 I'll go as far as I can from this damned place. I 
 wish to God I'd fallen in the road before I came 
 here. I wish I'd gone after my father and followed 
 in his steps. I'll live on no man's charity, so help 
 me God. Am I a dog to be kicked out and to go 
 whining back when the door opens ? Go — I'll go 
 to the devil, and be glad of it ! " For a moment 
 Betty did not answer. Her hands were clasped on 
 her bosom, and her eyes were dark and bright in 
 the pallor of her face. As he looked at her the rage 
 died out of his voice, and it quivered with a deeper 
 feeling. 
 
 " My dear, my dearest, are you, too, against me? " 
 he asked. 
 
 She met his gaze without flinching, but the bright 
 colour swept suddenly to her cheeks and dyed them 
 crimson. 
 
The Montjoy Blood 215 
 
 " Then if you will go, take me with you," she 
 said. 
 
 He fell back as if a star had dropped at his feet. 
 For a breathless instant she saw only his eyes, and 
 they drew her step by step. Then he opened his 
 arms and she went straight into them. 
 
 " Betty, Betty," he said in a whisper, and kissed 
 her lips. 
 
 She put her hands upon his shoulders, and 
 stood with his arms about her, looking up into his 
 face. 
 
 " Take me with you — oh, take me with you," 
 she entreated. " 1 can't be left. Take me with 
 you." 
 
 " And you love me — Betty, do you love me ? " 
 
 " I have loved you all my life — all my life," she 
 answered ; " how can I begin to unlove you now — ■ 
 now when it is too late? Do you think I am any 
 the less yours if you throw me away? If .you break 
 my heart can I help its still loving you ? " 
 
 " Betty, Betty," he said again, and his voice quiv- 
 ered. 
 
 " Take me with you," she repeated passionately, 
 saying it over and over again with her lips upon his 
 arm. 
 
 He stooped and kissed her almost roughly, and 
 then put her gently away from him. 
 
 " It is the way my mother went," he said, " and 
 God help me, I am my father's son. I am afraid, 
 — afraid — do you know what that means ? " 
 
 " But I am not afraid," answered the girl steadily. 
 
 He shivered and turned away ; then he came back 
 and knelt down to kiss her skirt. " No, I can't take 
 
216 The Battle-Ground 
 
 you with me," he went on rapidly, " but if I live to 
 be a man I shall come back — I will come back — 
 and you — " 
 
 " And I am waiting," she replied. 
 
 He opened the gate and passed out into the road. 
 
 " I will come back, beloved," he said again, and 
 went on into the darkness. 
 
 Leaning over the gate she strained her eyes into 
 the shadows, crying his name out into the night. 
 Her voice broke and she hid her face in her arm; 
 then, fearing to lose the last glimpse of him, she 
 looked up quickly and sobbed to him to come back 
 for a moment — but for a moment. It seemed to 
 her, clinging there upon the gate, that when he went 
 out into the darkness he had gone forever — that 
 the thud of his footsteps in the dust was the 
 last sound that would ever come from him to 
 her ears. 
 
 Had he looked back she would have gone straight 
 out to him, had he raised a finger she would have 
 followed with a cheerful face; but he did not look 
 back, and at last his footsteps died away upon the 
 road. 
 
 When she could see or hear nothing more of him, 
 she turned slowly and crept toward the house. Her 
 feet dragged under her, and as she walked she cast 
 back startled glances at the gate. The rustling of 
 the leaves made her stand breathless a moment, her 
 hand at her bosom; but it was only the wind, and 
 she went step by step into the house, turning upon 
 the threshold to throw a look behind her. 
 
 In the hall she paused and laid her hand upon the 
 library door, but the Major had bolted her out, and 
 
The Montjoy Blood 217 
 
 she heard him pacing with restless strides up and 
 down the room. She listened timidly awhile, then, 
 going softly by, went up to Mrs. Lightfoot. 
 
 The old lady was asleep, but as the girl entered 
 she awoke and sat up, very straight, in bed. " My 
 pain is much worse, Betty," she complained. " I 
 don't expect to get a wink of sleep this entire 
 night." 
 
 " I thought you were asleep when I came in," an- 
 swered Betty, keeping away from the candlelight; 
 " but I am so sorry you are in pain. Shall I make 
 you a mustard plaster ? " 
 
 Though she smiled, her voice was spiritless and 
 she moved with an effort. She felt suddenly very 
 tired, and she wanted to lie down somewhere alone 
 in the darkness. 
 
 " I'd just dropped off when Mr. Lightfoot woke 
 me slamming the doors," pursued the old lady, 
 querulously. " Men have so little consideration that 
 nothing surprises me, but I do think he might be 
 more careful when he knows I am suffering. No, 
 I won't take the mustard plaster, but you may bring 
 me a cup of hot milk, if you will. It sometimes 
 sends me off into a doze." 
 
 Betty went slowly downstairs again and heated 
 the milk on the dining-room fire. When it was ready 
 she daintily arranged it upon a tray and carried it 
 upstairs. " I hope it will do you good," she said 
 gently as she gave it to the old lady. " You must 
 try to lie quiet — the doctor told you so." 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot drank the milk and remarked 
 amiably that it was " very nice though a little 
 smoked — and now, go to bed, my dear," she added 
 
218 The Battle-Ground 
 
 kindly. " I mustn't keep you from your beauty 
 sleep. I'm afraid I've worn you out as it is." 
 
 Betty smiled and shook her head ; then she placed 
 the tray upon a chair, and went out, softly closing 
 the door after her. 
 
 In her own room she threw herself upon her bed, 
 and cried for Dan until the morning. 
 
THE ROAD AT MIDNIGHT 
 
 When Dan went down into the shadows of the 
 road, he stopped short before he reached the end of 
 the stone wall, and turned for his last look at 
 Chericoke. He saw the long old house, with its 
 peaked roof over which the elm boughs arched, the 
 white stretch of drive before the door, and the 
 leaves drifting ceaselessly against the yellow squares 
 of the library windows. As he looked Betty came 
 slowly from the shadow by the gate, where she had 
 lingered, and crossed the lighted spaces amid the 
 falling leaves. On the threshold, as she turned to 
 throw a glance into the night, it seemed to him, for 
 a single instant, that her eyes plunged through the 
 darkness into his own. Then, while his heart still 
 bounded with the hope, the door opened, and shut 
 after her, and she was gone. 
 
 For a moment he saw only blackness — so sharp 
 was the quick shutting off of the indoor light. The 
 vague shapes upon the lawn showed like mere 
 drawings in outline, the road became a pallid blur 
 in the formless distance, and the shine of the lamp- 
 light on the drive shifted and grew dim as if a 
 curtain had dropped across the windows. Like a 
 white thread on the blackness he saw the glimmer 
 beneath his grandmother's shutters, and it was as 
 
 219 
 
220 The Battle-Ground 
 
 if he had looked in from the high top of an elm and 
 seen her lying with her candle on her breast. 
 
 As he stood there the silence of the old house 
 knocked upon his heart like sound — and quick 
 fears sprang up within him of a sudden death, or 
 of Betty weeping for him somewhere alone in the 
 stillness. The long roof under the waving elm 
 boughs lost, for a heartbeat, the likeness of his 
 home, and became, as the clouds thickened in the 
 sky, but a great mound of earth over which the 
 wind blew and the dead leaves fell. 
 
 But at last when he turned away and followed 
 the branch road, his racial temperament had tri- 
 umphed over the forebodings of the moment; and 
 with the flicker of a smile upon his lips, he 
 started briskly toward the turnpike. As the mind 
 in the first ecstasy of a high passion is purified from 
 the stain of mere emotion, so the Major, and the 
 Major's anger, were forgotten, and his own bitter 
 resentment swept as suddenly from his thoughts. 
 He was overpowered and uplifted by the one su- 
 preme feeling from which he still trembled. All 
 else seemed childish and of small significance be- 
 side the memory of Betty's lips upon his own. 
 What room had he for anger when he was filled to 
 overflowing with the presence of love? 
 
 The branch road ran out abruptly into the turn- 
 pike, and once off the familiar way by his grand- 
 father's stone wall, he felt the blackness of the 
 night close round him like a vault. Without a 
 lantern there was small hope of striking the tavern 
 or the tavern road till morning. To go on meant a 
 night upon the roadside or in the fields. 
 
The Road at Midnight 221 
 
 As he stretched out his arm, groping in the 
 blackness, he struck suddenly upon the body of the 
 blasted tree, and coming round it, his eyes caught 
 the red light of free Levi's fire, and he heard the 
 sound of a hammer falling upon heated iron. The 
 little path was somewhere in the darkness, and as 
 he vainly sought for it, he stumbled over a row of 
 stripped and headless cornstalks which ran up to 
 the cabin door. Once upon the smooth stone before 
 the threshold, he gave a boyish whistle and lifted 
 his hand to knock. " It is I, Uncle Levi — there 
 are no ' hants ' about," he cried. 
 
 The hammer was thrown aside, and fell upon the 
 stones, and a moment afterward, the door flew back 
 quickly, showing the blanched face of free Levi 
 and the bright glow of the hearth. " Dis yer ain' 
 no time fur pranks," said the old man, angrily. 
 " Ain't yer ever gwine ter grow up, yit ? " and he 
 added, slowly, " Praise de Lawd hit's you instid 
 er de devil." 
 
 " Oh, it's I, sure enough," returned Dan, lightly, 
 as he came into the cabin. " I'm on my way to 
 Merry Oaks Tavern, Uncle Levi, — it's ten miles 
 off, you know, and this blessed night is no better 
 than an ink-pot. I'd positively be ashamed to send 
 such a night down on a respectable planet. It's that 
 old lantern of yours I want, by the way, and in 
 case it doesn't turn up again, take this to buy a new 
 one. No, I can't rest to-night. This is my work- 
 ing time, and I must be up and doing." He 
 reached for the rusty old lantern behind the door, 
 and lighted it, laughing as he did so. His face 
 was pale, and there was a nervous tremor in his 
 
222 The Battle-Ground 
 
 hands, but his voice had lost none of its old hearti- 
 ness. " Ah, that's it, old man," he said, when the 
 light was ready. " We'll shake hands in case it's 
 a long parting. This is a jolly world, Uncle Levi, — 
 good-by, and God bless you," and, leaving the old 
 man speechless on the hearth, he closed the door 
 and went out into the night. 
 
 On the turnpike again, with the lantern swinging 
 in his hand, he walked rapidly in the direction of 
 the tavern road, throwing quick flashes of light 
 before his footsteps. Behind him he heard the fall- 
 ing of free Levi's hammer, and knew that the old 
 negro was toiling at his rude forge for the bread 
 which he would to-morrow eat in freedom. 
 
 With the word he tossed back his hair and 
 quickened his s.teps, as if he were leaving servitude 
 behind him in the house at Chericoke; and, as the 
 anger blazed up within his heart he found pleasure 
 in the knowledge that at last he was starting out to 
 level his own road. Under the clouds on the long 
 turnpike it all seemed so easy — as easy as the fall- 
 ing of free Levi's hammer, which had faded in the 
 distance. 
 
 What was it, after all ? A year or two of struggle 
 and of attainment, and he would come back flushed 
 with success, to clasp Betty in his arms. In a 
 dozen different ways he pictured to himself the pos- 
 sible manner of that home-coming, obliterating the 
 year or two that lay between. He saw himself a 
 great lawyer from a little reading and a single 
 speech, or a judge upon his bench, famed for his 
 classic teaming and his grave decisions. He had 
 only to choose, he felt, and he might be anything — 
 
The Road at Midnight 223 
 
 had they not told him so at college? did not even 
 his grandfather admit it? He had only to choose 
 — and, oh, he would choose well — he would choose 
 to be a man, and to come riding back with his 
 honours thick upon him. 
 
 Looking ahead, he saw himself a few years hence, 
 as he rode leisurely homeward up the turnpike, 
 while the stray countrymen he met took off their 
 harvest hats, and stared wonderingly long after 
 he was gone. He saw the Governor hastening 
 to the road to shake his hand, he saw his grand- 
 father bowed with the sense of his injustice, trem- 
 ulous with the flutter of his pride ; and. best of all, 
 he saw Betty — Betty, with the rays of light beneath 
 her lashes, coming straight across the drive into 
 his arms. 
 
 And then all else faded slowly from him to 
 give place to Betty, and he saw her growing, chang- 
 ing, brightening, as he had seen her from her 
 childhood up. The small white figure in the moon- 
 light, the merry little playmate, hanging on his foot- 
 steps, eager to run his errands, the slender girl, with 
 the red braids and the proud shy eyes, and the 
 woman who knelt upon the hearth in Aunt x\ilsey's 
 cabin, smiling up at him as she dried her hair — 
 all gathered round him now illuminated against 
 the darkness of the night. Betty, Betty, — he whis- 
 pered her name softly beneath his breath, he spoke 
 it aloud in the silence of the turnpike, he even cried 
 it out against the mountains, and waited for the 
 echo — Betty, Betty. There was not only sweetness 
 in the thought of her, there was strength also. The 
 hand that had held him back when he would have 
 
a 24 The Battle-Ground 
 
 gone out blindly in his passion was the Hand of a 
 woman, not of a girl — of a woman who could face 
 life smiling because she felt deep in herself the 
 power to conquer it. Two days ago she had been 
 but the girl he loved, to-night, with her kisses on 
 his lips, she had become for him at once a shield 
 and a religion. He looked outward and saw her 
 influence a light upon his pathway; he turned his 
 gaze within and found her a part of the sacred 
 forces of his life — of his wistful childhood, his 
 boyish purity, and the memory of his mother. 
 
 He had passed Uplands, and now, as he followed 
 the tavern way, he held the flash of his lantern near 
 the ground, and went slowly by the crumbling hol- 
 lows in the strip of " corduroy " road. There was 
 a thick carpet of moist leaves underfoot, and above 
 the wind played lightly among the overhanging 
 branches. His lantern made a shining circle in the 
 midst of a surrounding blackness, and where the 
 light fell the scattered autumn leaves sent out gold 
 and scarlet flashes that came and went as quickly as 
 a flame. Once an owl flew across his path, and 
 startled by the lantern, blindly fluttered off again. 
 Somewhere in the distance he heard the short bark 
 of a fox ; then it died away, and there was no sound 
 except the ceaseless rustle of the trees. 
 
 By the time he came out of the wood upon the 
 open road, his high spirits had gone suddenly down, 
 and the visions of an hour ago showed stale and 
 lifeless to his clouded eyes. After a day's ride and 
 a poor dinner, the ten-mile walk had left him with 
 aching limbs, and a growing conviction that despite 
 his former aspirations, he was fast going to the 
 
The Road at Midnight 225 
 
 devil along the tavern road. When at last he swung 
 open the whitewashed gate before the inn, and threw 
 the light of his lantern on the great oaks in the yard, 
 the relief he felt was hardly brighter than despair, 
 and it made very little difference, he grimly told 
 himself, whether he put up for the night or kept 
 the road forever. With a clatter he went into the 
 little wooden porch and knocked upon the door. 
 
 He was still knocking when a window was raised 
 suddenly above him, and a man's voice called out, 
 " if he wanted a place for night-hawks to go on to 
 hell." Then, being evidently a garrulous body, the 
 speaker leaned comfortably upon the sill, and sent 
 down a string of remarks, which Dan promptly 
 shortened with an oath. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Jack Hicks," he cried, 
 angrily, " and come down and open this door before 
 I break it in. I've walked ten miles to-night and 
 I can't stand here till morning. How long has it 
 been since you had a guest ? " 
 
 " There was six of 'em changin' stages this 
 mornin'," drawled Jack, in reply, still hanging 
 from the sill. " I gave 'em a dinner of fried chicken 
 and battercakes, and two of 'em being Yankees 
 hadn't never tasted it befo' — and a month ago one 
 dropped in to spend the night — " 
 
 He broke off hastily, for his wife had joined him 
 at the window, and as Dan looked up with the flash 
 of the lantern in his face, she gave a cry and called 
 his name. 
 
 " Put on your clothes and go down, you fool," 
 she said, " it's Mr. Dan — don't you see it's Mr. Dan, 
 and he's as white as yo' nightshirt. Go down, I 
 
226 The Battle-Ground 
 
 tell you, — go down and let him in." There was a 
 skurrying in the room and on the staircase, and a 
 moment later the door was flung open and a lamp 
 flashed in the darkness. 
 
 " Walk in, suh, walk right in," said Jack Hicks, 
 hospitably, " day or night you're welcome — as wel- 
 come as the Major himself." He drew back and 
 stood with the lamplight full upon him — a loose, 
 ill-proportioned figure, with a flabby face and pale 
 blue eyes set under swollen lids. 
 
 " I want something to eat, Jack," returned Dan, 
 as he entered and put down his lantern, " and a 
 place to sleep — in fact I want anything you have to 
 offer." 
 
 Then, as Mrs. Hicks appeared upon the stair, he 
 greeted her, despite his weariness, with something 
 of his old jesting manner. " I am begging a sup- 
 per," he remarked affably, as he shook her hand, 
 " and I may as well confess, by the way, that I am 
 positively starving." 
 
 The woman beamed upon him, as women always 
 did, and while she led the way into the little din- 
 ing room, and set out the cold meat and bread upon 
 the oil-cloth covering of the table, she asked him 
 eager questions about the Major and Mrs. Lightfoot, 
 which he aroused himself to parry with a tired 
 laugh. She was tall and thin, with a wrinkled brown 
 face, and a row of curl papers about her forehead. 
 Her faded calico wrapper hung loosely over her 
 nightgown, and he saw her bare feet through the 
 cracks in her worn-out leather slippers. 
 
 " The poor young gentleman is all but dead," 
 she said at last. " You give him his supper, Jack, 
 
The Road at Midnight 227 
 
 and I'll go right up to fix his room. To think of his 
 walkin' ten miles in the pitch blackness — the poor 
 young gentleman." 
 
 She went out, her run down slippers flapping on 
 the stair, and Dan, as he ate his ham and bread, lis- 
 tened impatiently to the drawling voice of Jack 
 Hicks, who discussed the condition of the country 
 while he drew apple cider from a keg into a white 
 china pitcher. As he talked, his fat face shone with 
 a drowsy good-humour, and his puffed lids winked 
 sleepily over his expressionless blue eyes. He 
 moved heavily as if his limbs were forever coming 
 in the way of his intentions. 
 
 " Yes, suh, I never was one of them folks as ain't 
 satisfied unless they're always a-fussin'," he re- 
 marked, as he placed the pitcher upon the table. 
 " Thar's a sight of them kind in these here parts, 
 but I ain't one of 'em. Lord, Lord, I tell 'em, befo' 
 you git ready to jump out of the fry in' pan, you'd 
 better make mighty sure you ain't fixin' to land 
 yo'self in the fire. That's what I always had agin 
 these here abolitionists as used to come pokin' round 
 here — they ain't never learned to set down an' 
 cross thar hands, an' leave the Lord to mind his 
 own business. Bless my soul, I reckon they'd have 
 wanted to have a hand in that little fuss of Lucifer's 
 if they'd been alive — that's what I tell 'em, suh. 
 An' now thar's all this talk about the freein' of the 
 niggers — free ? What are v they goin' to do with 
 'em after they're done set 'em free? Ain't they 
 the sons of Ham ? I ask 'em ; an' warn't they made 
 to be servants of servants like the Bible says ? It's a 
 bold man that goes plum agin the Bible, and flies 
 
228 The Battle-Ground 
 
 smack into the face of God Almighty — it's a bold 
 man, an' he ain't me, suh. What I say is, if the Lord 
 can stand it, I reckon the rest of the country — " 
 
 He paused to draw breath, and Dan laid down 
 his knife and fork and pushed back his chair. " Be- 
 fore you begin again, Jack," he said coolly, " will 
 you spare enough wind to carry me upstairs ? " 
 
 " That's what I tell 'em," pursued Jack amiably, 
 as he lighted a candle and led the way into the hall. 
 " They used to come down here every once in a 
 while an' try to draw me out ; and one of 'em 'most 
 got a coat of tar an' feathers for meddlin' with my 
 man Lacy ; but if the Lord — here we are, here we 
 are." 
 
 He stopped upon the landing and opened the door 
 of a long room, in which Mrs. Hicks was putting 
 the last touches to the bed. She stopped as Dan 
 came in, and by the pale flicker of a tallow candle 
 stood looking at him from the threshold. "If you'll 
 jest knock on the floor when you wake up, I'll know 
 when to send yo' hot water," she said, " and if 
 thar's anything else you want, you can jest knock 
 agin." 
 
 With a smile he thanked her and promised to 
 remember; and then as she went out into the hall, 
 he bolted the door, and threw himself into a chair 
 beside the window. Sleep had quite deserted him, 
 and the dawn was on the mountains when at last 
 he lay down and closed his eyes. 
 
XI 
 
 AT MERRY OAKS TAVERN 
 
 Upon awaking his first thought was that he had 
 got " into a deucedly uncomfortable fix," and when 
 he stretched out his hand from the bedside the need 
 of fresh clothes appeared less easy to be borne than 
 the more abstract wreck of his career. For the first 
 time he clearly grasped some outline of his future 
 < — a future in which a change of linen would become 
 a luxury ; and it was with smarting eyes and a ner- 
 vous tightening of the throat that he glanced about 
 the long room, with its whitewashed walls, and told 
 himself that he had come early to the end of his am- 
 bition. In the ill-regulated tenor' of his thoughts 
 but a hair's breadth divided assurance from despair. 
 Last night the vaguest hope had seemed to be a 
 certainty ; to-day his fat acres and the sturdy slaves 
 upon them had vanished like a dream, and the build- 
 ing of his fortunes had become suddenly a very 
 different matter from the rearing of airy castles 
 along the road. 
 
 . As he lay there, with his strong white hands folded 
 upon the quilt, his eyes went beyond the little lattice 
 at the window, and rested upon the dark gray chain 
 of mountains over which the white clouds sailed 
 like birds. Somewhere nearer those mountains he 
 knew that Chericoke was standing under the clouded 
 
 229 
 
230 The Battle-Ground 
 
 sky, with the half-bared elms knocking night and 
 day upon the windows. He could see the open 
 doors, through which the wind blew steadily, and 
 the crooked stair down which his mother had come 
 in her careless girlhood. 
 
 It seemed to him, lying there, that in this one hour 
 he had drawn closer into sympathy with his mother, 
 and when he looked up from his pillow, he half ex- 
 pected to see her merry eyes bending over him, and 
 to feel her thin and trembling hand upon his brow. 
 His old worship of her awoke to life, and he suf- 
 fered over again the moment in his childhood when 
 he had called her and she had not answered, and 
 they had pushed him from the room and told him 
 she was dead. He remembered the clear white of 
 her face, with the violet shadows in the hollows; 
 and he remembered the baby lying as if asleep upon 
 her bosom. For a moment he felt that he had never 
 groAvn older since that day — that he was still a 
 child grieving for her loss — while all the time she 
 was not dead, but stood beside him and smiled down 
 upon his pillow. Poor mother, with the merry eyes 
 and the bitter mouth. 
 
 Then as he looked the face grew younger, though 
 the smile did not change, and he saw that it was 
 Betty, after all — Betty with the tenderness in her 
 eyes and the motherly yearning in her outstretched 
 arms. The two women he loved were forever 
 blended in his thoughts^ and he dimly realized that 
 whatever the future made of him, he should be 
 moulded less by events than by the hands of these 
 two women. Events might subdue, but love alone 
 could create the spirit that gave him life. 
 
At Merry Oaks Tavern 231 
 
 There was a tap at his door, and when he arose 
 and opened it, Mrs. Hicks handed in a pitcher of 
 hot water and inquired " if he had recollected to 
 knock upon the floor ? " 
 
 He set the water upon the table, and after he had 
 dressed brushed hopelessly, with a trembling hand, 
 at the dust upon his clothes. Then he went to the 
 window and stood gloomily looking down among 
 the great oak trees to the strip of yard where a pig 
 was rooting in the acorns. 
 
 A small porch ran across the entrance to the inn, 
 and Jack Hicks was already seated on it, with a pipe 
 in his mouth, and his feet upon the railing. His 
 drowsy gaze was turned upon the woodpile hard by, 
 where an old negro slave was chopping aimlessly 
 into a new pine log, and a black urchin gathering 
 chips into a big split basket. At a little distance the 
 Hopeville stage was drawn out under the trees, the 
 empty shafts lying upon the ground, and on the box 
 a red and black rooster stood crowing. Overhead 
 there was a dull gray sky, and the scene, in all its 
 ugliness, showed stripped of the redeeming grace of 
 lights and shadows. 
 
 Jack Hicks, smoking on his porch, presented a 
 picture of bodily comfort and philosophic ease of 
 mind. He was owner of some rich acres, and his 
 possessions, it was said, might have been readily 
 doubled had he chosen to barter for them the peace 
 of perfect inactivity. To do him justice the idea 
 had never occurred to him in the light of a tempta- 
 tion, and when a neighbour had once remarked in 
 his hearing that he " reckoned Jack would rather 
 lose a dollar than walk a mile to fetch it," he had 
 
232 The Battle-Ground 
 
 answered blandly, and without embarrassment, that 
 " a mile was a goodish stretch on a sandy road." 
 So he sat and dozed beneath his sturdy oaks, while 
 his wife went ragged at the heels and his swarm of 
 tow-headed children rolled contentedly with the pigs 
 among the acorns. 
 
 Dan was still looking moodily down into the yard, 
 when he heard a gentle pressure upon the handle of 
 his door, and as he turned, it opened quickly and 
 Big Abel, bearing a large white bundle upon his 
 shoulders, staggered into the room. 
 
 " Ef'n you'd des let me knowed hit, I could er 
 brung a bigger load," he remarked sternly. 
 
 While he drew breath Dan stared at him with 
 the blankness of surprise. " Where did you come 
 from, Big Abel ? " he questioned at last, speaking in 
 a whisper. 
 
 Big Abel was busily untying the sheet he had 
 brought, and spreading out the contents upon the 
 bed, and he did not pause as he sullenly answered : — 
 
 " Ole Marster's." 
 
 " Who sent you ? " 
 
 Big Abel snorted. " Who gwine sen' me ? " he 
 demanded in his turn. 
 
 " Well, I declare," said Dan, and after a moment, 
 " how did you get away, man ? " 
 
 " Lawd, Lawd," returned Big Abel, " I waV 
 bo'n yestiddy nur de day befo'. Terreckly I seed 
 you a-cuttin' up de drive, I knowed dar wuz mo' den 
 wuz in de tail er de eye, en w'en you des lit right 
 out agin en bang de do' behint you fitten ter bus' 
 hit, den I begin ter steddy 'bout de close in de big 
 wa'drobe. I -got out one er ole Miss's sheets w'en 
 
At Merry Oaks Tavern 233 
 
 she vva'n' lookin, en I tie up all de summer close de 
 bes' I kin — caze dat ar do' bang hit ain' soun' like 
 you gwine be back fo' de summer right plum hyer. 
 I'se done heah a do' bang befo' now, en dars mo' in 
 it den des de shettin' ter stay shet." 
 
 " So you ran away ? " said Dan, with a long 
 whistle. 
 
 " Ain't you done run away ? " 
 
 "I — oh, I was turned out," answered the young 
 man, with his eyes on the negro. " But — bless my 
 soul, Big Abel, why did you do it ? " 
 
 Big Abel muttered something beneath his breath, 
 and went on laying out the things. 
 
 " How you gwine git dese yer close ef I ain' tote 
 'em 'long de road ? " he asked presently. " How 
 you gwine git dis yer close bresh ef I ain' brung hit 
 ter you? Whar de close you got? Whar de close 
 bresh?" 
 
 " You're a fool, Big Abel," retorted Dan. " Go 
 back where you belong and don't hang about me any 
 more. I'm a beggar, I tell you, and I'm likely to be 
 a beggar at the judgment day." 
 
 " Whar de close bresh ? " repeated Big Abel, 
 scornfully. 
 
 " What would Saphiry say, I'd like to know ? " 
 went on Dan. " It isn't fair to Saphiry to run off 
 this way." 
 
 " Don' you bodder 'bout Saphiry," responded Big 
 Abel. " I'se done loss my tase fur Saphiry, young 
 Marster." 
 
 " I tell you you're a fool," snapped out Dan, 
 sharply. 
 
 " De Lawd he knows," piously rejoined Big Abel, 
 
«34 The Battle-Ground 
 
 and he added : " Dar ain' no use a-rumpasin' case 
 hyer I is en hyer I'se gwine ter stay. Whar you 
 run, dar I'se gwine ter run right atter, so 'tain' no 
 use a-rumpasin'. Hit's a pity dese yer ain' nuttin' 
 but summer close." 
 
 Dan looked at him a moment in silence, then he 
 put out his hand and slapped him upon the shoulder. 
 
 " You're a fool — God bless you," he said. 
 
 " Go 'way f'om yer, young Marster," responded 
 the negro, in a high good-humour. " Dar's a speck 
 er dut right on yo' shut." 
 
 " Then give me another," cried Dan, gayly, and 
 threw off his coat. 
 
 When he went down stairs, carefully brushed, a 
 half-hour afterward, the world had grown suddenly 
 to wear a more cheerful aspect. He greeted Mrs. 
 Hicks with his careless good-humour, and spoke 
 pleasantly to the dirty white-haired children that 
 streamed through the dining room. 
 
 " Yes, I'll take my breakfast now, if you please," 
 he said as he sat down at one end of the long, oil- 
 cloth-covered table. Mrs. Hicks brought him his 
 coffee and cakes, and then stood, with her hands 
 upon a chair back, and watched him with a frank 
 delight in his well-dressed comely figure. 
 
 " You do favour the Major, Mr. Dan," she sud- 
 denly remarked. 
 
 He started impatiently. " Oh, the Lightfoots are 
 all alike, you know," he responded. " We are fond 
 of saying that a strain of Lightfoot blood is good 
 for two centuries of intermixing." Then, as he 
 looked up at her faded wrapper and twisted curl 
 papers, he flinched and turned away as if her ugli- 
 
At Merry Oaks Tavern 235 
 
 ness afflicted his eyes. " Do not let me keep you/' 
 he added hastily. 
 
 But the woman stooped to shake a child that was 
 tugging at her dress, and talked on in her drawling 
 voice, while a greedy interest gave life to her worn 
 and sallow face. " How long do you think of 
 stayin' ? " she asked curiously, " and do you often 
 take a notion to walk so fur in the dead of night? 
 Why, I declar, when I looked out an' saw you I 
 couldn't believe my eyes. That's not Mr. Dan, I 
 said, you won't catch Mr. Dan out in the pitch dark- 
 ness with a lantern and ten miles from home." 
 
 " I really do not want to keep you," he broke 
 in shortly, all the good-humour gone from his 
 voice. 
 
 " Thar ain't nothin' to do right now," she an- 
 swered with a searching look into his face. " I was 
 jest waitin' to bring you some mo' cakes." She 
 went out and came in presently with a fresh plateful. 
 " I remember jest as well the first time you ever 
 took breakfast here," she said. " You wa'n't more'n 
 twelve, I don't reckon, an' the Major brought you 
 by in the coach, with Big Abel driving. The Major 
 didn't like the molasses we gave him, and he pushed 
 the pitcher away and said it wasn't fit for pigs; 
 and then you looked about real peart and spoke up, 
 ' It's good molasses, grandpa, I like it.' Sakes alive, 
 it seems jest like yestiddy. I don't reckon the 
 Major is comin' by to-day, is he? " 
 
 He pushed his plate away and rose hurriedly, 
 then, without replying, he brushed past her, and 
 went out upon the porch. 
 
 There he found Jack Hicks, and forced himself 
 
i$6 The Battle-Ground 
 
 squarely into a discussion of his altered fortunes. 
 '* I may as well tell you, Jack," he said, with a touch 
 of arrogance, " that I'm turned out upon the world, 
 at last, and I've got to make a living. I've left 
 Chericoke for good, and as I've got to stay here 
 until I find a place to go, there's no use making a 
 secret of it." 
 
 The pipe dropped from Jack's mouth, and he 
 stared back in astonishment. 
 
 " Bless my soul and body ! " he exclaimed. " Is 
 the old gentleman crazy or is you ? " 
 
 " You forget yourself," sharply retorted Dan. 
 
 " Well, well," pursued Jack, good-naturedly, as 
 he knocked the ashes from his pipe and slowly re- 
 filled it. " If you hadn't have told me, I wouldn't 
 have believed you — well, well." He put his pipe 
 into his mouth and hung on it for a moment ; then 
 he took it out and spoke thoughtfully. " I reckon 
 I've known you from a child, haven't I, Mr. Dan ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " That's so, Jack," responded the young man, 
 " and if you can recommend me, I want you to help 
 me to a job for a week or two — then I'm off to 
 town." 
 
 " I've known you from a child year in an' year 
 out," went on Jack, blandly disregarding the inter- 
 ruption. " From the time you was sech a pleasant- 
 spoken little boy that it did me good to bow to you 
 when you rode by with the Major. ' Thar's not 
 another like him in the country,' I said to Bill Bates, 
 an' he said to me, ' Thar's not a man between here 
 an' Leicesterburg as ain't ready to say the same.' 
 Then time went on an' you got bigger, an' the year 
 
At Merry Oaks Tavern 237 
 
 came when the crops failed an' Sairy got sick, an' 
 I took a mortgage on this here house — an' what 
 should happen but that you stepped right up an' 
 paid it out of yo' own pocket. And you kept it from 
 the Major. Lord, Lord, to think the Major never 
 knew which way the money went." 
 
 " We won't speak of that," said Dan, throwing 
 back his head. The thought that the innkeeper 
 might be going to offer him the money stung him 
 into anger. 
 
 But Jack knew his man, and he would as soon 
 have thought of throwing a handful of dust into 
 his face. " Jest as you like, suh, jest as you like," 
 he returned easily, and went on smoking. 
 
 Dan sat down in a chair upon the porch, and tak- 
 ing out his knife began idly whittling at the end of 
 a stick. A small boy, in blue jean breeches, watched 
 him eagerly from the steps, and he spoke to him 
 pleasantly while he cut into the wood. 
 
 " Did you ever see a horse's head on a cane, 
 sonny?" 
 
 The child sucked his dirty thumb and edged 
 nearer. 
 
 " Naw, suh, but I've seen a dawg's," he answered, 
 drawing out his thumb like a stopper and sticking it 
 in again. 
 
 " Well, you watch this and you'll see a horse's. 
 There, now don't take your eyes away." 
 
 He whittled silently for a time, then as he looked 
 up his glance fell on the stagecoach in the yard, and 
 he turned from it to Jack Hicks. 
 
 " There's one thing on earth I know about, Jack," 
 he said, " and that's a horse." 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 11 
 
238 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " Not a better jedge in the county, suh," was 
 Jack's response. 
 
 As Dan whittled a flush rose to his face. " Does 
 Tom Hyden still drive the Hopeville stage ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Well, you see it's this way," answered Jack, 
 weighing his words. " Tom he's a first-rate hand at 
 horses, but he drinks like a fish, and last week he 
 married a wife who owns a house an' farm up the 
 road. So long as he had to earn his own livin' he 
 kept sober long enough to run the stage, but since 
 he's gone and married, he says thar's no call fur 
 him to keep a level head — so he don't keep it. Yes, 
 that's about how 'tis, suh." 
 
 Dan finished the stick and handed it to the child. 
 " I tell you what, Jack," he said suddenly, " I want 
 Tom Hyden's place, and I'm going to drive that 
 stage over to Hopeville this afternoon. Phil Banks 
 runs it, doesn't he? — well, I know him." He rose 
 and stood humorously looking out upon the coach. 
 " There's no time like the present," he added, " so 
 I begin work to-day." 
 
 Jack Hicks silently stared up at him for a mo- 
 ment ; then he coughed and exclaimed hoarsely : — 
 
 " The jedgment ain't fur off," but Dan laughed 
 the prophecy aside and went upstairs to write to 
 Betty. 
 
 " I've got a job, Big Abel," he began, going into 
 his room, where the negro was pressing a pair of 
 trousers with a flatiron, " and what's more it will 
 keep me till I get another." 
 
 Big Abel gloomily shook his head. " We all 'ud 
 des better go 'long home ter Ole Miss," he returned, 
 
At Merry Oaks Tavern 239 
 
 for he was in no mood for compromises. " Caze I 
 am' use ter de po' w'ite trash en dey ain' use ter 
 me. 
 
 " Go if you want to," retorted Dan, sternly, " but 
 you go alone/' and the negro, protesting under his 
 breath, laid the clothes away and went down to his 
 breakfast. 
 
 Dan sat down by the window and wrote a letter to 
 Betty which he never sent. When he thought of 
 her now it was as if half the world instead of ten 
 miles lay between them; and quickly as he would 
 have resented the hint of it from Jack Hicks, to 
 himself he admitted that he was fast sinking where 
 Betty could not follow him. What would the end 
 be? he asked, and disheartened by the question, tore 
 the paper into bits and walked moodily up and down 
 the room. He had lived so blithely until to-day! 
 His lines had fallen so smoothly in the pleasant 
 places ! Not without a grim humour he remembered 
 now that last year his grievance had been that his 
 tailor failed to fit him. Last year he had walked 
 the floor in a rage because of a wrinkled coat, and 
 to-day — His road had gone rough so suddenly 
 that he stumbled like a blind man when he tried to 
 go over it in his old buoyant manner. 
 
 An hour later he was still pacing restlessly to and 
 fro, when the door softly opened and Mrs. Hicks 
 looked in upon him with a deprecating smile. As 
 she lingered on the threshold, he stopped in the 
 middle of the room and threw her a sharp glance 
 over his shoulder. 
 
 " Is there anything you wish ? " he questioned 
 irritably. 
 
240 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Shaking her head, she came slowly toward him 
 and stood in her soiled wrapper and curl papers, 
 where the gray light from the latticed window fell 
 full upon her. 
 
 " It ain't nothin'," she answered hurriedly. 
 " Nothin' except Jack's been tellin' me you're in 
 trouble, Mr. Dan." 
 
 " Then he has been telling you something that 
 concerns nobody but myself," he replied coolly, and 
 continued his walking. 
 
 There was a nervous flutter of her wrapper, and 
 she passed her knotted hand over her face. 
 
 " You are like yo' mother, Mr. Dan," she said 
 with an unexpectedness that brought him to a halt. 
 " An' I was the last one to see her the night she 
 went away. She came in here, po' thing, all shiv- 
 erin' with the cold, an' she wouldn't set down but 
 kep' walkin' up an' down, up an' down, jest like 
 you've been doin' fur this last hour. Po' thing! 
 Po' thing ! I tried to make her take a sip of brandy, 
 but she laughed an' said she was quite warm, with 
 her teeth chatterin' fit to break — " 
 
 " You are very good, Mrs. Hicks," interrupted 
 Dan, in an affected drawl which steadied his voice, 
 " but do you know, I'd really rather that you 
 wouldn't." 
 
 Her sallow face twitched and she looked wistfully 
 up at him. 
 
 " It isn't that, Mr. Dan," she went on slowly, 
 " but I've had trouble myself, God knows, and when 
 I think of that po' proud young lady, an' the way 
 she went, I can't help sayin' what I feel — it won't 
 stay back. So if you'll jest keep on here, an' give 
 
At Merry Oaks Tavern 241 
 
 up the stage drivin' an' wait twil the old gentleman 
 comes round — Jack an' I'll do our best fur you — 
 we'll do our best, even if it ain't much." 
 
 Her lips quivered, and as he watched her it 
 seemed to him that a new meaning passed into her 
 face — something that made her look like Betty and 
 his mother — that made all good women who had 
 loved him look alike. For the moment he forgot 
 her ugliness, and with the beginning of that keener 
 insight into life which would come to him as he 
 touched with humanity, he saw only the dignity 
 with which suffering had endowed this plain and 
 simple woman. The furrows upon her cheeks were 
 no longer mere disfigurements ; they raised her 
 from the ordinary level of the ignorant and the ugly 
 into some bond of sympathy with his dead mother. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Hicks," he stammered, abashed 
 and reddening. " Why, I shall take a positive pleas- 
 ure in driving the stage, I assure you." 
 
 He crossed to the mirror and carefully brushed 
 a stray lock of hair into place; then he took up his 
 hat and gloves and turned toward the door. " I 
 think it is waiting for me now," he added lightly; 
 K a pleasant evening to you." 
 
 But she stood straight before him and as he met 
 her eyes his affected jauntiness dropped from him. 
 With a boyish awkwardness he took her hand and 
 held it for an instant as he looked at her. " My 
 dear madam, you are a good woman," he said, and 
 went whistling down to take the stage. 
 
 Upon the porch he found Jack Hicks seated be- 
 tween a stout gentleman and a thin lady, who were 
 to be the passengers to Hopeville; and as Dan ap- 
 
242 The Battle-Ground 
 
 peared the innkeeper started to his feet and swung 
 open the door of the coach for the thin lady to pass 
 inside. " You'll find it a pleasant ride, mum," he 
 heartily assured her. " I've often taken it myself 
 an', rain or shine, thar's not a prettier road in all 
 Virginny," then he moved humbly back as Dan, 
 carelessly drawing on his gloves, came down the 
 steps. " I hope we haven't hurried you, suh," he 
 stammered. 
 
 " Not a bit — not a bit," returned Dan, affably, 
 slipping on his overcoat, which Big Abel had run up 
 to hold for him. 
 
 " You gwine git right soakin' wet, Marse Dan," 
 said Big Abel, anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, I'll not melt," responded Dan, and bowing 
 to the thin lady he stepped upon the wheel and 
 mounted lightly to the box. 
 
 " There's no end - to this eternal drizzle," he 
 called down, as he tucked the waterproof robe about 
 him and took up the reins. 
 
 Then, with a merry crack of the whip, the stage 
 rolled through the gate and on its way. 
 
 As it turned into the road, a man on horseback 
 came galloping from the direction of the town, and 
 when he neared the tavern he stood up in his stirrups 
 and shouted his piece of news. 
 
 " Thar was a raid on Harper's Ferry in the night," 
 he yelled hoarsely. " The arsenal has fallen, an' 
 they're armin' the damned niggers." 
 
XII 
 
 THE NIGHT OF FEAR 
 
 Late in the afternoon, as the Governor neared the 
 tavern, he was met by a messenger with the news; 
 and at once turning his horse's head, he started back 
 to Uplands. A dim fear, which had been with him 
 since boyhood, seemed to take shape and meaning 
 with the words ; and in a lightning flash of under- 
 standing he knew that he had lived before through 
 the horror of this moment. If his fathers had 
 sinned, surely the shadow of their wrong had passed 
 them by to fall the heavier upon their sons ; for even 
 as his blood rang in his ears, he saw a savage justice 
 in the thing he feared — a recompense to natural 
 laws in which the innocent should weigh as naught 
 against the guilty. 
 
 A fine rain was falling; and as he went on, the 
 end of a drizzling afternoon dwindled rapidly into 
 night. Across the meadows he saw the lamps in 
 scattered cottages twinkle brightly through the dusk 
 which rolled like fog down from the mountains. 
 The road he followed sagged between two gray hills 
 into a narrow valley, and regaining its balance upon 
 the farther side, stretched over a cattle pasture into 
 the thick cover of the woods. 
 
 As he reached the summit of the first hill, he saw 
 the Major's coach creeping slowly up the incline. 
 243 
 
244 The Battle-Ground 
 
 and heard the old gentleman scolding through the 
 window at Congo on the box. 
 
 " My dear Major, home's the place for you," he 
 said as he drew rein. " Is it possible that the news 
 hasn't reached you yet ? " 
 
 Remembering Congo, he spoke cautiously, but the 
 Major, in his anger, tossed discretion to the winds. 
 
 " Reached me ? — bless my soul ! — do you take 
 me for a ground hog ? " he cried, thrusting his red 
 face through the window. " I met Tom Bickels 
 four miles back, and the horses haven't drawn breath 
 since. But it's what I expected all along — I was 
 just telling Congo so — it all comes from the mis- 
 taken tolerance of black Republicans. Let me open 
 my doors to them to-day, and they'll be tempting 
 Congo to murder me in my bed to-morrow." 
 
 " Go 'way f'om yer, Ole Marster," protested 
 Congo from the box, flicking at the harness with his 
 long whip. 
 
 The Governor looked a little anxiously at the 
 negro, and then shook his head impatiently. 
 Though a less exacting master than the Major, he 
 had not the same childlike trust in the slaves he 
 owned. 
 
 " Shall you not turn back ? " he asked, surprised. 
 
 " Champe's there," responded the Major, " so I 
 came on for the particulars. A night in town isn't 
 to my liking, but I can't sleep a wink until I hear a 
 thing or two. You're going out, eh ? " 
 
 " I'm riding home," said the Governor, " it makes 
 me uneasy to be away from Uplands." He paused, 
 hesitated an instant, and then broke out suddenly. 
 " Good God, Major, what does it mean? " 
 
The Night of Fear 245 
 
 The Major shook his head until his long white 
 hair fell across his eyes. 
 
 " Mean, sir ? " he thundered in a rage. " It 
 means, I reckon, that those damned friends of yours 
 have a mind to murder you. It means that after all 
 your speech-making and your brotherly love, they're 
 putting pitchforks into the hands of savages and 
 loosening them upon you. Oh, you needn't mind 
 Congo, Governor. Congo's heart's as white as 
 mine." 
 
 " Dat's so, Ole Marster," put in Congo, approv- 
 ingly. 
 
 The Governor was trembling as he leaned down 
 from his saddle. 
 
 " We know nothing as yet, sir," he began, " there 
 must be some — " 
 
 " Oh, go on, go on," cried the Major, striking 
 the carriage window. " Keep up your speech- 
 making and your handshaking until your wife gets 
 murdered in her bed — but, by God, sir, if Virginia 
 doesn't secede after this, I'll secede without her ! " 
 
 The coach moved on and the Governor, touching 
 his horse with the whip, rode rapidly down the 
 hill. 
 
 As he descended into the valley, a thick mist rolled 
 over him and the road lost itself in the blur of the 
 surrounding fields. Without slackening his pace, he 
 lighted the lantern at his saddle-bow and turned up 
 the collar of his coat about his ears. The fine rain 
 was soaking through his clothes, but in the tension 
 of his nerves he was oblivious of the weather. The 
 sun might have risen overhead and he would not 
 have known it. 
 
2^6 The Battle-Ground 
 
 With the coming down of the darkness a slow fear 
 crept, like a physical chill, from head to foot. A 
 visible danger he felt that he might meet face to 
 face and conquer; but how could he stand against 
 an enemy that crept upon him unawares ? — against 
 the large uncertainty, the utter ignorance of the 
 depth or meaning of the outbreak, the knowledge of 
 a hidden evil which might be even now brooding at 
 his fireside? 
 
 A thousand hideous possibilities came toward him 
 from out the stretch of the wood. The light of a 
 distant window, seen through the thinned edge of 
 the forest; the rustle of a small animal in the un- 
 derbrush; the drop of a walnut on the wet leaves 
 in the road; the very odours which rose from the 
 moist earth and dripped from the leafless branches 
 — all sent him faster on his way, with a sound 
 within his ears that was like the drumming of his 
 heart. 
 
 To quiet his nerves, he sought to bring before him 
 a picture of the house at Uplands, of the calm white 
 pillars and the lamplight shining from the door; 
 but even as he looked the vision of a slave-war 
 rushed between, and the old buried horrors of the 
 Southampton uprising sprang suddenly to life and 
 thronged about the image of his home. Yesterday 
 those tales had been for him as colourless as history, 
 as dry as dates ; to-night, with this new fear at his 
 heart, the past became as vivid as the present, and it 
 seemed to him that beyond each lantern flash he 
 saw a murdered woman, or an infant with its 
 brains dashed out at its mother's breast. This 
 was what he feared, for this was what the mes- 
 
The Night of Fear 247 
 
 sage meant to him : " The slaves are armed and 
 rising." 
 
 And yet with it all, he felt that there was some 
 wild justice in the thing he dreaded, in the revolt of 
 an enslaved and ignorant people, in the pitiable and 
 ineffectual struggle for a freedom which would 
 mean, in the beginning, but the power to go forth 
 and kill. It was the recognition of this deeper 
 pathos that made him hesitate to reproach even 
 while his thoughts dwelt on the evils — that would, 
 if the need came, send him fearless and gentle to the 
 fight. For what he saw was that behind the new 
 wrongs were the old ones, and that the sinners of 
 to-day were, perhaps, the sinned against of yester- 
 day. 
 
 When at last he came out into the turnpike, he 
 had not the courage to look among the trees for the 
 lights of Uplands ; and for a while he rode with his 
 eyes following the lantern flash as it ran onward 
 over the wet ground. The small yellow circle held 
 his gaze, and as if fascinated he watched it moving 
 along the road, now shining on the silver grains in 
 a ring of sand, now glancing back from the standing 
 water in a wheelrut, and now illuminating a mossy 
 stone or a weed upon the roadside. It was the one 
 bright thing in a universe of blackness, until, as he 
 came suddenly upon an elevation, the trees parted 
 and he saw the windows of his home glowing upon 
 the night. As he looked a great peace fell over him, 
 and he rode on, thanking God. 
 
 When he turned into the drive, his past anxiety 
 appeared to him to be ridiculous, and as he glanced 
 from the clear lights in the great house to the chain 
 
248 The Battle-Ground 
 
 of lesser ones that stretched along the quarters, he 
 laughed aloud in the first exhilaration of his relief. 
 This at least was safe, God keep the others. 
 
 At his first call as he alighted before the portico, 
 Hosea came running for his horse, and when he en- 
 tered the house, the cheerful face of Uncle Shadrach 
 looked out from the dining room. 
 
 " Hi ! Marse Peyton, I 'lowed you wuz gwine ter 
 spen' de night." 
 
 " Oh, I had to get back, Shadrach," replied the 
 Governor. " No, I won't take any supper — you 
 needn't bring it — but give me a glass of Burgundy, 
 and then go to bed. Where is your mistress, by 
 the way ? Has she gone to her room ? " 
 
 Uncle Shadrach brought the bottle of Burgundy 
 from the cellaret and placed it upon the table. 
 
 " Naw, suh, Miss July she set out ter de quar- 
 ters ter see atter Mahaley," he returned. " Maha- 
 ley she's moughty bad off, but 'tain' no night fur 
 Miss July — dat's w'at I tell 'er — one er dese yer 
 spittin' nights ain' no night ter be out in." 
 
 " You're right, Shadrach, you're right," responded 
 the Governor; and rising he drank the wine standi 
 ing. " It isn't a fit night for her to be out, and I'll 
 go after her at once." 
 
 He took up his lantern, and as the old negro 
 opened the doors before him, went out upon the 
 back porch and down the steps. 
 
 From the steps a narrow path ran by the kitchen, 
 and skirting the garden-wall, straggled through the 
 orchard and past the house of the overseer to the 
 big barn and the cabins in the quarters. There was 
 a light from the barn door, and as he passed he heard 
 
The Night of Fear 249 
 
 the sound of fiddles and the shuffling- steps of 
 the field hands in a noisy " game." The words 
 they sang floated out into the night, and with the 
 squeaking of the fiddles followed him along his 
 path. 
 
 When he reached the quarters, he went from 
 door to door, asking for his wife. " Is this Maha- 
 ley's cabin ? " he anxiously inquired, " and has your 
 mistress gone by?" 
 
 In the first room an old negro woman sat on the 
 hearth wrapping the hair of her grandchild, and 
 she rose with a courtesy and a smile of welcome. 
 At the question her face fell and she shook her 
 head. 
 
 " Dis yer ain' Mahaley, Marster," she replied. 
 " En dis yer ain' Mahaley's cabin — caze Mahaley 
 she ain' never set foot inside my do', en I ain' gwine 
 set foot at her buryin'." She spoke shrilly, moved 
 by a hidden spite, but the Governor, without stop- 
 ping, went on along the line of open doors. In one 
 a field negro was roasting chestnuts in the embers 
 of a log fire, and while waiting he had fallen asleep, 
 with his head on his breast and his gnarled hands 
 hanging between his knees. The firelight ran over 
 him, and as he slept he stirred and muttered some- 
 thing in his dreams. 
 
 After the first glance, his master passed him by 
 and moved on to the adjoining cabin. " Does Ma- 
 haley live here ? " he asked again and yet again, 
 until, suddenly, he had no need to put the question 
 for from the last room he heard a low voice praying, 
 and upon looking in saw his wife kneeling with her 
 open Bible near the bedside. 
 
250 The Battle-Ground 
 
 With his hat in his hand, he stood within the 
 shadow of the doorway and waited for the earnest 
 voice to fall silent. Mahaley was dying, this he saw 
 when his glance wandered to the shrunken figure 
 beneath the patchwork quilt; and at the same in- 
 stant he realized how small a part was his in Ma- 
 haley's life or death. He should hardly have known 
 her had he met her last week in the corn field ; and 
 it was by chance only that he knew her now when 
 she came to die. 
 
 As he stood there the burden of his responsibility 
 weighed upon him like old age. Here in this scant 
 cabin things so serious as birth and death showed 
 in a pathetic bareness, stripped of all ceremonial 
 trappings, as mere events in the orderly working 
 out of natural laws — events as seasonable as the 
 springing up and the cutting down of the corn. In 
 these simple lives, so closely lived to the ground, 
 grave things were sweetened by an unconscious 
 humour which was of the soil itself ; and even death 
 lost something of its strangeness when it came like 
 the grateful shadow which falls over a tired worker 
 in the field. 
 
 Mrs. Ambler finished her prayer and rose from 
 her knees ; and as she did so two slave women, 
 crouching in a corner by the fire, broke into loud 
 moaning, which filled the little room with an ani- 
 mal and inarticulate sound of grief. 
 
 " Come away, Julia," implored the Governor in a 
 whisper, resisting an impulse to close his ears 
 against the cry. 
 
 But his wife shook her head and spoke for a mo- 
 ment with the sick woman before she wrapped her 
 
The Night of Fear 251 
 
 shawl about her and came out into the open air. 
 Then she gave a sigh of relief, and, with her hand 
 through her husband's arm, followed the path across 
 the orchard. 
 
 " So you came home, after all," she said. For a 
 moment he made no response ; then, glancing about 
 him in the darkness, he spoke in a low voice, as if 
 fearing the sound of his own words. 
 
 " Bad news brought me home, Julia," he replied, 
 " At the tavern they told me a message had come to 
 Leicesterburg from Harper's Ferry. An attack was 
 made on the arsenal at midnight, and, it may 
 be but a rumour, my dear, it was feared that 
 the slaves for miles around were armed for an 
 uprising." 
 
 His voice faltered, and he put out his hand to 
 steady her, but she looked up at him and he saw 
 her clear eyes shining in the gloom. 
 
 " Oh, poor creatures," she murmured beneath her 
 breath. 
 
 " Julia, Julia," he said softly, and lifted the lan- 
 tern that he might look into her face. As the light 
 fell on her he knew that she was as much a mystery 
 to him now as she had been twenty years ago on 
 her wedding-day. 
 
 When they went into the house, he followed Uncle 
 Shadrach about and carefully barred the windows, 
 shooting bolts which were rusted from disuse. 
 After the old negro had gone out he examined the 
 locks again ; and then going into the hall took down 
 a bird gun and an army pistol from their places on 
 the rack. These he loaded and laid near at hand 
 beside the books upon his table. 
 
2 $2 The Battle-Ground 
 
 There was no sleep for him that night, and until 
 dawn he sat, watchful, in his chair, or moved softly 
 from window to window, looking for a torch upon 
 the road and listening for the sound of approaching 
 steps. 
 
xm 
 
 CRABBED AGE AND CALLOW YOUTH 
 
 With the morning came trustier tidings. The 
 slaves had taken no part in the attack, the weapons 
 had dropped from the few dark hands into which 
 they had been given, and while the shots that might 
 bring them freedom yet rang at Harper's Ferry, 
 the negroes themselves went with cheerful faces to 
 their work, or looked up, singing, from their labours 
 in the field. In the green valley, set amid blue 
 mountains, they moved quietly back and forth, 
 raking the wind-drifts of fallen leaves, or plough- 
 ing the rich earth for the autumn sowing of the 
 grain. 
 
 As the Governor was sitting down to breakfast, 
 the Lightfoot coach rolled up to the portico, and 
 the Major stepped down to deliver himself of his 
 garnered news. He was in no pleasant humour, 
 for he had met Dan face to face that morning as 
 he passed the tavern, and as if this were not suffi- 
 cient to try the patience of an irascible old gentle- 
 man, a spasm of gout had seized him as he made 
 ready to descend. 
 
 But at the sight of Mrs. Ambler, he trod valiantly 
 upon his gouty toe, and screwed his features into 
 his blandest smile — an effort which drew so heav- 
 ily upon the source of his good-nature, that he ar- 
 
 253 
 
254 The Battle-Ground 
 
 rived at Chericoke an hour later in what was 
 known to Betty as " a purple rage." 
 
 " You know I have always warned you, Molly," 
 was his first offensive thrust as he entered Mrs. 
 Lightfoot's chamber, " that your taste for trash 
 would be the ruin of the family. It has ruined your 
 daughter, and now it is ruining your grandson. 
 Well, well, you can't say that it is for lack of 
 warning." 
 
 From the centre of her tester bed, the old lady 
 calmly regarded him. " I told you to bring back 
 the boy, Mr. Lightfoot," she returned. " You surely 
 saw him in town, didn't you ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I saw him," replied the Major, loos- 
 ening his high black stock. " But where do you 
 suppose I saw him, ma'am? and how? Why, the 
 young scapegrace has actually gone and hired him- 
 self out as a stagedriver — a common stagedriver. 
 And, bless my soul, he had the audacity to tip his 
 hat to me from the box — from the box with the 
 reins in his hand, ma'am ! " 
 
 " What stage, Mr. Lightfoot ? " inquired his 
 wife, with an eye for particulars. 
 
 " Oh, I wash my hands of him," pursued the 
 Major, waving her question aside. " I wash my 
 hands of him, and that's the end of it. In my day, 
 the young were supposed to show some respect 
 for their elders, and every calf wasn't of the opinion 
 that he could bellow like a bull — but things are 
 changed now, and I wash my hands of it all. A 
 more ungrateful family, I am willing to maintain, 
 no man was ever blessed with — which comes, I 
 reckon, from sparing the rod and spoiling the 
 
Crabbed Age and Callow Youth 255 
 
 child — but I'm sure I don't see how it is that it is 
 always your temper that gets inherited." 
 
 The personal note fell unheeded upon his wife's 
 ears. 
 
 " You don't mean to tell me that you came away 
 and left the boy sitting on the box of a stage- 
 coach ? " she demanded sharply. 
 
 " Would you have me claim a stagedriver as a 
 grandson? " retorted the Major, " because I may as 
 well say now, ma'am, that there are some things I'll 
 not stoop to. Why, I'd as lief have an uncle who 
 was a chimney sweep. " 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot turned uneasily in bed. " It 
 means, I suppose, that I shall have to get up and go 
 after him," she remarked, " and you yourself heard 
 the doctor tell me not to move out of bed for a week. 
 It does seem to me, Mr. Lightfoot, that you might 
 show some consideration for my state of health. 
 Do ride in this afternoon, and tell Dan that I say 
 he must behave himself properly." 
 
 But the Major turned upon her the terrific counte- 
 nance she had last seen on Jane's wedding day, and 
 she fell silent from sheer inability to utter a protest 
 befitting the occasion. 
 
 "If that stagedriver enters my house, I leave it, 
 ma'am," thundered the old gentleman, with a stamp 
 of his gouty foot. " You may choose between us, 
 if you like, — I have never interfered with your 
 fancies — but, by God, if you bring him inside my 
 doors I — I will horsewhip him, madam," and he 
 went limping out into the hall. 
 
 On the stair he met Betty, who looked at him 
 with pleading eyes, but fled, affrighted, before the 
 
256 The Battle-Ground 
 
 colour of his wrath; and in his library he found 
 Champe reading his favourite volume of Mr. 
 Addison. 
 
 " I hope you aren't scratching up my books, sir," 
 he observed, eying the pencil in his great-nephew's 
 hand. 
 
 Champe looked at him with his cool glance, and 
 rose leisurely to his feet. " Why, I'd as soon think of 
 scrawling over Aunt Emmeline's window pane," 
 he returned pleasantly, and added, " I hope you had 
 a successful trip, sir." 
 
 " I got a lukewarm supper and a cold breakfast," 
 replied the Major irritably, " and I heard that the 
 Marines had those Kansas raiders entrapped like 
 rats in the arsenal, if that is what you mean." 
 
 " No, I wasn't thinking of that," replied Champe, 
 as quietly as before. " I came home to find out about 
 Dan, you know, and I hoped you went into town to 
 look him up." 
 
 " Well, I didn't, sir," declared the Major, " and 
 as for that scamp — I have as much knowledge of 
 his whereabouts as I care for. — Do you know, sir," 
 he broke out fiercely, " that he has taken to driving 
 a common stage ? " 
 
 Champe was sharpening his pencil, and he did 
 not look up as he answered. " Then the sooner he 
 leaves off the better, eh, sir ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Oh, there's your everlasting wrangling ! " ex- 
 claimed the Major with a hopeless gesture. " You 
 catch it from Molly, I reckon, and between you, 
 you'll drive me into dotage yet. Always arguing! 
 Never any peace. Why, I believe if I were to take it 
 into my head to remark that white is white, you 
 
Crabbed Age and Callow Youth 257 
 
 would both be setting out to convince me that 
 it is black. I tell you now, sir, that the sooner 
 you curb that tendency of yours, the better it 
 will be." 
 
 " Aren't we rather straying from the point ? " in- 
 terposed Champe half angrily. 
 
 " There it is again," gasped the Major. 
 
 The knife slipped in Champe's hand and scratched 
 his finger. " Surely you don't intend to leave Dan 
 to knock about for himself much longer?" he said 
 coolly. " If you do, sir, I don't mind saying that I 
 think it is a damn shame." 
 
 " How dare you use such language in my pres- 
 ence?" roared the old gentleman, growing purple 
 to the neck. " Have you, also, been fighting for 
 barmaids and taking up with gaol-birds ? It is what 
 I have to expect, I suppose, and I may as well accus- 
 tom my ears to profanity ; but damn you, sir, you 
 must learn some decency ; " and going into the hall 
 he shouted to Congo to bring him a julep. 
 
 Champe said nothing more; and when the julep 
 appeared on a silver tray, he left the room and 
 went upstairs to where Betty was waiting. " He's 
 awful, there's no use mincing words, he's simply 
 awful," he remarked in an exhausted voice. 
 
 " But what does he say ? tell me," questioned 
 Betty, as she moved to a little peaked window which 
 overlooked the lawn. 
 
 "What doesn't he say?" groaned Champe with 
 his eyes upon her as she stood relieved against the 
 greenish panes of glass. 
 
 " Do you think I might speak to him? " she per- 
 sisted eagerly. 
 
258 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " My dear girl, do you want to have your head 
 bitten off for your pains ? His temper is positively 
 tremendous. By Jove, I didn't know he had it in 
 him after all these years; I thought he had worn 
 it out on dear Aunt Molly. And Beau, by the way, 
 isn't going to be the only one to suffer for his dar- 
 ing, which makes me wish that he had chosen to 
 embrace the saintly instead of the heroic virtues. 
 I confess that I could find it in my heart to prefer 
 less of David and more of Job." 
 
 " How can you ? " remonstrated Betty. She 
 pressed her hands together and looked wistfully up 
 at him. " But what are you going to do about it? " 
 she demanded. 
 
 For a moment his eyes dwelt on her. 
 
 " Betty, Betty, how you care ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Care ? " she laughed impatiently. " Oh, I care, 
 but what good does that do ? " 
 
 "Would you care as much for me, I wonder?" 
 She smiled up at him and shook her head. 
 
 " No, I shouldn't, Champe," she answered 
 honestly. 
 
 He turned his gaze away from her, and looked 
 through the dim old window panes out upon the 
 clustered elm boughs. 
 
 " Well, I'll do this much," he said in a cheerful 
 voice. " I'll ride to the tavern this morning and find 
 out how the land lies there. I'll see Beau, and I'll 
 do my best for him, and for you, Betty." She put 
 out her hand and touched his arm. " Dear 
 Champe ! " she exclaimed impulsively. 
 
 " Oh, I dare say," he scoffed, " but is there any 
 message ? " 
 
Crabbed Age and Callow Youth 259 
 
 " Tell him to come back," she answered, " to come 
 back now, or when he will." 
 
 " Or when he will," he repeated smiling, and 
 went down to order his horse. 
 
 At the tavern he found Jack Hicks and a neigh- 
 bouring farmer or two, seated upon the porch dis- 
 cussing the raid upon Harper's Ferry. They would 
 have drawn him into the talk, but he asked at once 
 for Dan, and upon learning the room in which he 
 lodged, ran up the narrow stair and rapped upon 
 the door. Then, without waiting for a response, 
 he burst into the room with outstretched hand. 
 " Why, they've put you into a tenpin alley," were 
 his words of greeting. 
 
 With a laugh Dan sprang up from his chair be- 
 side the window. " What on earth are you doing 
 here, old man ? " he asked. 
 
 " Well, just at present I'm trying to pull you out 
 of the hole you've stumbled into. I say, in 
 the name of all that's rational, why did you allow 
 yourself to get into such a scrape ? " 
 
 Dan sat down again and motioned to a split-bot- 
 tomed chair he had used for a footstool. 
 
 " There's no use going into that," he replied 
 frowning, " I raised the row and I'm ready to bear 
 the consequences." 
 
 " Ah, that's the point, my dear fellow ; Aunt Molly 
 and I have been bearing them all the morning." 
 
 " Of course, I'm sorry for that, but I may as 
 well tell you now that things are settled so far as 
 I am concerned. I've been kicked out and I 
 wouldn't go back again if they came for me in a 
 golden chariot." 
 
260 The Battle- Ground 
 
 " I hardly think that's likely to happen," was 
 Champe's cheerful rejoinder. " The old gentleman 
 has had his temper touched, as, I dare say, you're 
 aware, and, as ill-luck would have it, he saw you 
 on the stagecoach this morning. My dear Beau, 
 you ought to have crawled under the box." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " protested Dan, " it's no concern of 
 his." He turned his flushed boyish face angrily 
 away. 
 
 Champe looked at him steadily with a twinkle 
 in his eyes. " Well, I hope your independence will 
 come buttered," he remarked. " I doubt if you will 
 find the taste of dry bread to your liking. By the 
 way, do you intend to enter Jack Hicks's house- 
 hold?" 
 
 " For a fortnight, perhaps. I've written to Judge 
 Compton, and if he'll take me into his office, I 
 shall study law." 
 
 Champe gave a long whistle. " I should have 
 supposed that your taste would be for tailoring," he 
 observed, " your genius for the fashions is 
 immense." 
 
 " I hope to cultivate that also," said Dan, smil- 
 ing, as he glanced at his coat. 
 
 " What ? on bread and cheese and Blackstone ? " 
 
 " Oh, Blackstone ! I never heard he wasn't a 
 well-dressed old chap." 
 
 " At least you'll take half my allowance ? " 
 
 Dan shook his head. " Not a cent — not a copper 
 cent." 
 
 " But how will you live, man ? " 
 
 " Oh, somehow," he laughed carelessly. " I'll livo 
 somehow." 
 
Crabbed Age and Callow Youth 261 
 
 " It's rather a shame, you know," responded 
 Champe, " but there's one thing- of which I am very- 
 sure — the old gentleman will come round. We'll 
 make him do it, Aunt Molly and I — and Betty." 
 
 Dan started. 
 
 " Betty sent you a message, by the way," pursued 
 Champe, looking through the window. " It was 
 something about coming home; she says you are 
 to come home now — or when you will." He rose 
 and took up his hat and riding-whip. 
 
 " Or when I will," said Dan, rising also. " Tell 
 her — no, don't tell her anything — what's the 
 use?" 
 
 " She doesn't need telling," responded Champe, 
 going toward the door ; and he added as they went 
 together down the stair, " She always understands 
 without words, somehow." 
 
 Dan followed him into the yard, and watched 
 him, from under the oaks beside the empty stage- 
 coach, as he mounted and rode away. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, remember my warning," 
 said Champe, turning in the saddle, " and don't in- 
 sist upon eating dry bread if you're offered butter." 
 
 " And you will look after Aunt Molly and Betty ? " 
 Dan rejoined. - 
 
 " Oh, I'll look after them," replied the other 
 lightly, and rode off at an amble. 
 
 Dan looked after the horse and rider until they 
 passed slowly out of sight; then, coming back to 
 the porch, he sat down among the farmers, and 
 listened, abstractedly, to the drawling voice of Jack 
 Hicks. 
 
 When Champe reached Chericoke, he saw Betty 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 12 
 
262 The Battle-Ground 
 
 looking for him from Aunt Emmeline's window 
 seat; and as he dismounted, she ran out and joined 
 him upon the steps. 
 
 " And you saw him ? " she asked breathlessly. 
 
 " It was pleasant to think that you came to meet 
 me for my own sake," he returned ; and at her im- 
 patient gesture, caught her hand and looked into 
 her eyes. 
 
 "I saw him, my dear," he said, " and he was in a 
 temper that would have proved his descent had he 
 been lost in infancy." 
 
 She eagerly questioned him, and he answered 
 with forbearing amusement. "Is that all?" she 
 asked at last, and when he nodded, smiling, she 
 went up to Mrs. Lightfoot's bedside and besought 
 her " to make the Major listen to reason." 
 
 " He never listened to it in his life, my child," 
 the old lady replied, " and I think it is hardly to 
 be expected of him that he should begin at his pres- 
 ent age." Then she gathered, bit by bit, the news 
 that Champe had brought, and ended by remarking 
 that " the ways of men and boys were past finding 
 out." 
 
 " Do you think the Major will ever forgive 
 him ? " asked Betty, hopelessly. 
 
 " He never forgave poor Jane," answered Mrs. 
 Lightfoot, her voice breaking at the mention of her 
 daughter. " But whether he forgives him or not, 
 the silly boy must be made to come home; and as 
 soon as I am ouc of this bed, I must get into the 
 coach and drive to that God-forsaken tavern. After 
 ten years, nothing will content them, I suppose, but 
 that I should jolt my bones to pieces." 
 
Crabbed Age and Callow Youth 263 
 
 Betty looked at her anxiously. " When will you 
 be up ? " she inquired, flushing, as the old lady's 
 sharp eyes pierced her through. 
 
 " I really think, my dear, that you are less sen- 
 sible than I took you to be," returned Mrs. Light- 
 foot. " It was very foolish of you to allow yourself 
 to take a fancy to Dan. You should have insisted 
 upon preferring Champe, as I cautioned you to do. 
 In entering into marriage it is always well to con- 
 sider first, family connections and secondly, personal 
 disposition ; and in both of these particulars there 
 is no fault to be found with Champe. His mother 
 was a Randolph, my child, which is greatly to his 
 credit. As for Dan, I fear he will make anything 
 but a safe husband." 
 
 " Safe ! " exclaimed Betty indignantly, " did you 
 marry the Major because he was ' safe,' I wonder? " 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot accepted the rebuke with meek- 
 ness. 
 
 " Had I done so, I should certainly have proved 
 myself to be a fool," she returned with grim humour, 
 " but since you have fully decided that you pre- 
 fer to be miserable, I shall take you with me to- 
 morrow when I go for Dan." 
 
 But on the morrow the old lady did not leave 
 her bed, and the doctor, who came with his saddle- 
 bags from Leicesterburg, glanced her over and 
 ordered " perfect repose of mind and body " before 
 he drank his julep and rode away. 
 
 " Perfect repose, indeed ! " scoffed his patient, 
 from behind her curtains, when the visit was over. 
 " Why, the idiot might as well have ordered me a 
 mustard plaster. If he thinks there's any ' repose ' 
 
264 The Battle-Ground 
 
 in being married to Mr. Lightfoot, I'd be very 
 glad to have him try it for a week." 
 
 Betty made no response, for her throat was 
 strained and aching; but in a moment Mrs. Light- 
 foot called her to her bedside and patted her upon 
 the arm. 
 
 " We'll go next week, child," she said gently. 
 " When you have been married as long as I have 
 been, you will know that a week the more or the less 
 of a man's society makes very little difference in the 
 long run." 
 
 And the next week they went. On a ripe October 
 day, when the earth was all red and gold, the 
 coach was brought out into the drive, and Mrs. 
 Lightfoot came down, leaning upon Champe and 
 Betty. 
 
 The Major was reading his Horace in the library, 
 and though he heard the new pair of roans pawing 
 on the gravel, he gave no sign of displeasure. His 
 age had oppressed him in the last few days, and 
 he carried stains, like spilled wine, on his cheeks. 
 He could not ease his swollen heart by outbursts 
 of anger, and the sensitiveness of his temper 
 warned off the sympathy which he was too proud 
 to unbend and seek. So he sat and stared at the 
 unturned Latin page, and the hand he raised to his 
 throat trembled slightly in the air. 
 
 Outside, Betty, in her most becoming bonnet, 
 with her blue barege shawl over her soft white 
 gown, wrapped Mrs. Lightfoot in woollen robes, and 
 fluttered nervously when the old lady remembered 
 that she had left her spectacles behind. 
 
 " I brought the empty case ; here it is, my dear," 
 
Crabbed Age and Callow Youth 265 
 
 she said, offering it to the girl. " Surely you don't 
 intend to take me off without my glasses ? " 
 
 Mitty was sent upstairs on a search for them, 
 and in her absence her mistress suddenly decided 
 that she needed an extra wrap. " The little white 
 nuby in my top drawer, Betty — I felt a chill strik- 
 ing the back of my neck." 
 
 Betty threw her armful of robes into the coach, 
 and ran hurriedly up to the old lady's room, coming 
 down, in a moment, with the spectacles in one hand 
 and the little white shawl in the other. 
 
 " Now, we must really start, Congo," she called, 
 as she sat down beside Mrs. Lightfoot, and when 
 the coach rolled along the drive, she leaned out and 
 kissed her hand to Champe upon the steps. 
 
 " It is a heavenly day," she said with a sigh of 
 happiness. " Oh, isn't it too good to be real 
 weather ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot did not answer, for she was busily 
 examining the contents of her black silk bag. 
 
 " Stop Congo, Betty," she exclaimed, after a hasty 
 search. " I have forgotten my handkerchief ; I 
 sprinkled it with camphor and left it on the bureau. 
 Tell him to go back at once." 
 
 " Take mine, take mine ! " cried the girl, press- 
 ing it upon her; and then turning her back upon 
 the old lady, she leaned from the window and 
 looked over the valley filled with sunshine. 
 
 The whip cracked, the fat roans kicked the dust, 
 and on they went merrily down the branch road 
 into the turnpike; past Aunt Ailsey's cabin, past 
 the wild cherry tree, where the blue sky shone 
 through naked twigs; down the long curve, past 
 
266 The Battle-Ground 
 
 the tuft of cedars — and still the turnpike swept 
 wide and white, into the distance, dividing gay 
 fields dotted with browsing cattle. At Uplands 
 Betty caught a glimpse of Aunt Lydia between the 
 silver poplars, and called joyfully from the win- 
 dow; but the words were lost in the rattling of 
 the wheels ; and as she lay back in her corner, Up- 
 lands was left blehind, and in a little while they 
 passed into the tavern road and went on beneath 
 the shade of interlacing branches. 
 
 Underfoot the ground was russet, and through 
 the misty woods she saw the leaves still falling 
 against a dim blue perspective. The sunshine 
 struck in arrows across the way, and far ahead, 
 at the end of the long vista, there was golden 
 space. 
 
 With the ten miles behind them, they came 
 to the tavern in the early afternoon, and, as a 
 small tow-headed boy swung open the gate, the 
 coach rolled into the yard and drew up before the 
 steps. 
 
 Jack Hicks started from his seat, and throwing 
 his pipe aside, came hurriedly to the wheels, but 
 before he laid his hand upon the door, Betty opened 
 it and sprang lightly to the ground, her face radiant 
 in the shadow of her bonnet. 
 
 " Let me speak, child," called Mrs. Lightfoot 
 after her, adding, with courteous condescension, 
 " How are you, Mr. Hicks ? Will you go up at 
 once and tell my grandson to pack his things and 
 come straight down. As soon as the horses are 
 rested we must start back again." 
 
 With visible perturbation Jack looked from the 
 
Crabbed Age and Callow Youth 267 
 
 coach to the tavern door, and stood awkwardly 
 scraping his feet upon the road. 
 
 "I — I'll go up with all the pleasure in life, mum," 
 he stammered ; " but I don't reckon thar's no use — 
 he — he's gone." 
 
 " Gone ? " cried the aghast old lady ; and Betty 
 rested her hand upon the wheel. 
 
 " Big Abel, he's gone, too," went on Jack, gain- 
 ing courage from the accustomed sound of his own 
 drawl. "Mr. Dan tried his best to git away with- 
 out him — but Lord, Lord, the sense that nigger's 
 got. Why, his marster might as well have tried to 
 give his own skin the slip — " 
 
 " Where did they go ? " sharply put in the old 
 lady. " Don't mumble your words, speak plainly, 
 if you please." 
 
 " He wouldn't tell me, mum ; I axed him, but 
 he wouldn't say. A letter came last night, and this 
 morning at sunup they were off — Mr. Dan in front, 
 and Big Abel behind with the bundle on his shoul- 
 der. They walked to Leicestersburg, that's all I 
 know, mum." 
 
 " Let me get inside," said Betty, quickly. Her 
 face had gone white, but she thanked Jack when he 
 picked up the shawl she dropped, and went steadily 
 into the coach. " We may as well go back," she 
 added with a little laugh. 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot threw an anxious look into her 
 face. 
 
 " We must consider the horses, my dear," she 
 responded. " Mr. Hicks, will you see that the horses 
 are well fed and watered. Let them take their 
 time." 
 
268 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " Oh, I forgot the horses," returned Betty apol- 
 ogetically, and patiently sat down with her arm 
 leaning in the window. There was a smile on her 
 lips, and she stared with bright eyes at the oak trees 
 and the children playing among the acorns. 
 
XIV 
 
 THE HUSH BEFORE THE STORM 
 
 The autumn crept into winter; the winter went 
 by, short and fitful, and the spring - unfolded slowly. 
 With the milder weather the mud dried in the roads, 
 and the Major and the Governor went daily into 
 Leicesterburg. The younger man had carried his 
 oratory and his influence into the larger cities of the 
 state, and he had come home, at the end of a month 
 of speech-making, in a fervour of almost boyish en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 " I pledge my word for it, Julia," he had declared 
 to his wife, " it will take more than a Republican 
 President to sever Virginia from the Union — 
 in fact, I'm inclined to think that it will take 
 a thunderbolt from heaven, or the Major for a 
 despot ! " 
 
 When, as the spring went on, men came from the 
 political turmoil to ask for his advice, he repeated 
 the words with a conviction that was in itself a 
 ring of emphasis. 
 
 " We are in the Union, gentlemen, for better or 
 for worse " — and of all the guests who drank his 
 Madeira under the pleasant shade of his maples, 
 only the Major found voice to raise a protest. 
 
 " We'll learn, sir, we'll live and learn," interposed 
 the old gentleman. 
 
 269 
 
270 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " Let us hope we shall live easily," said the doctor, 
 lifting his glass. 
 
 " And learn wisdom," added the rector, with a 
 chuckle. 
 
 Through the spring and summer they rode leis- 
 urely back and forth, bringing bundles of news- 
 papers when they came, and taking away with 
 them a memory of the broad white portico and the 
 mellow wine. 
 
 The Major took a spasmodic part in the discus- 
 sions of peace or war, sitting sometimes in a 
 moody silence, and flaring up, like an exhausted 
 candle, at the news of an abolition outbreak. In his 
 heart he regarded the state of peace as a mean and 
 beggarly condition and the sure resort of bloodless 
 cowards ; but even a prospect of the inspiring dash 
 of war could not elicit so much as the semblance of 
 his old ardour. His smile flashed but seldom over 
 his harsh features — it needed indeed the presence 
 of Mrs. Ambler or of Betty to bring it forth 
 — and his erect figure had given way in the 
 chest, as if a strong wind bent him forward when 
 he walked. 
 
 " He has grown to be an old man," his neighbours 
 said pityingly ; and it is true that the weight of his 
 years had fallen upon him in a night — as if he had 
 gone to bed in a hale old age, with the sap of youth 
 in his veins, to awaken with bleared eyes and a 
 trembling hand. Since the day of his wife's return 
 from the tavern, when he had peered from his hid- 
 ing-place in his library window, he had not men- 
 tioned his grandson by name; and yet the thought 
 of him seemed forever lying beneath his captious 
 
The Hush before the Storm 271 
 
 exclamations. He pricked nervously at the sub- 
 ject, made roundabout allusions to the base ingrati- 
 tude from which he suffered ; and the desertion of 
 Big Abel had damned for him the whole faithful 
 race from which the offender sprang. 
 
 " They are all alike," he sweepingly declared. 
 " There is not a trustworthy one among them. 
 They'll eat my bread and steal my chickens, and 
 then run off with the first scapegrace that gives 
 them a chance." 
 
 " I think Big Abel did just right," said Betty, 
 fearlessly. 
 
 The old gentleman squared himself to fix her with 
 his weak red eyes. 
 
 "Oh, you're just the same," he returned pet- 
 tishly, " just the same." 
 
 " But I don't steal your chickens, sir," protested 
 the girl, laughing. 
 
 The Major grunted and looked down at her in 
 angry silence ; then his face relaxed and a frosty 
 smile played about his lips. 
 
 " You are young, my child," he replied, in a kind 
 of austere sadness, " and youth is always an enemy 
 to the old — to the old," he repeated quietly, and 
 looked at his wrinkled hand. 
 
 But in the excitement of the next autumn, he 
 showed for a time a revival of his flagging spirit. 
 When the elections came he followed them with 
 an absorption that had in it all the violence of a 
 mental malady. The four possible Presidents that 
 stood before the people were drawn for him in bold 
 lines of black and white — the outward and visible 
 distinction between, on the one side, the three " ad- 
 
272 The Battle-Ground 
 
 venturers " whom he heartily opposed, and, on the 
 other, the " Kentucky gentleman," for whom he as 
 heartily voted. There was no wavering in his con- 
 victions — no uncertainty; he was troubled by no 
 delicate shades of indecision. What he believed, 
 and that alone, was God-given right; what he did 
 not believe, with all things pertaining to it, was 
 equally God-forsaken error. 
 
 Toward the Governor, when the people's choice 
 was known, he displayed a resentment that was 
 almost touching in its simplicity. 
 
 " There's a man who would tear the last rag of 
 honour from the Old Dominion," he remarked, in 
 speaking of his absent neighbour. 
 
 " Ah, Major," sighed tht rector, for it was upon 
 one of his weekly visits, " what course would you 
 have us gird our loins to pursue ? " 
 
 " Course? " promptly retorted the Major. " Why, 
 the course of courage, sir." 
 
 The rector shook his great head. " My dear 
 friend, I fear you recognize the virtue only when 
 she carries the battle-axe," he observed. 
 
 For a moment the Major glared at him; then, 
 restrained by his inherited reverence for the pulpit, 
 he yielded the point with the soothing acknowledg- 
 ment that he was always " willing to make due al- 
 lowance for ministers of the gospel." 
 
 " My dear sir," gasped Mr. Blake, as his jaw 
 dropped. His face showed plainly that so profes- 
 sional an allowance was exactly what he did not take 
 to be his due ; but he let sleeping dangers lie, and it 
 was not until a fortnight later, when he rode out 
 with a copy of the Charleston Mercury and the news 
 
The Hush before the Storm 273 
 
 of the secession of South Carolina, that he found 
 the daring to begin a direct approach. 
 
 It was a cold, bright evening in December, and 
 the Major unfolded the paper and read it by the 
 firelight, which glimmered redly on the frosted 
 window panes. When he had finished, he looked 
 over the fluttering sheet into the pale face of the 
 rector, and waited breathlessly for the first decisive 
 words. 
 
 " May she depart in peace," said the minister, in 
 a low voice. 
 
 The old gentleman drew a long breath, and, in 
 the cheerful glow, the other, looking at him, saw 
 his weak red eyes fill with tears. Then he took out 
 his handkerchief, shook it from its folds, and loudly 
 blew his nose. 
 
 " It was the Union our fathers made, Mr. Blake," 
 he said. 
 
 " And the Union you fought for, Major," re- 
 turned the rector. 
 
 " In two wars, sir," he glanced down at his arm 
 as if he half expected to see a wound, " and I shall 
 never fight for another," he added with a sigh. 
 " My fighting days are over." 
 
 They were both silent, and the logs merrily 
 crackled on the great brass andirons, while the 
 flames went singing up the chimney. A glass of 
 Burgundy was at the rector's hand, and he lifted it 
 from the silver tray and sipped it as he waited. At 
 last the old man spoke, bending forward from his 
 station upon the hearth-rug. 
 
 " You haven't seen Peyton Ambler, I reckon ? " 
 
 " I passed him coming out of town and he was 
 
474 The Battle-Ground 
 
 trembling like a leaf," replied the rector. " He looks 
 badly, by the way. I must remember to tell the doc- 
 tor he needs building up." 
 
 " He didn't speak about this, eh ? " 
 
 " About South Carolina ? Oh, yes, he spoke, sir. 
 It happened that Jack Powell came up with him 
 when I did — the boy was cheering with all his 
 might, and I heard him ask the Governor if he ques- 
 tioned the right of the state to secede ? " 
 
 "And Peyton said, sir?" The Major leaned 
 eagerly toward him. 
 
 " He said," pursued the rector, laughing softly. 
 " ' God forbid, my boy, that I should question the 
 right of any man or any country to pursue folly.' " 
 
 " Folly ! " cried the Major, sharply, firing at the 
 first sign of opposition. " It was a brave deed, sir, 
 a brave deed — and I — yes, I envy the honour for 
 Virginia. And as for Peyton Ambler, it is my belief 
 that it is he who has sapped the courage of the state. 
 Why, my honest opinion is that there are not fifty 
 men in Virginia with the spirit to secede — and they 
 are women." 
 
 The rector laughed and tapped his wine-glass. 
 
 " You mustn't let that reach Mrs. Lightfoot'^ 
 ears, Major," he cautioned, " for I happen to know 
 that she prides herself upon being what the papers 
 call a ' skulker.' " He stopped and rose heavily to 
 his feet, for, at this point, the door was opened by 
 Cupid and the old lady rustled stiffly into the room. 
 
 " I came down to tell you, Mr. Lightfoot, that 
 you really must not allow yourself to become ex- 
 cited," she explained, when the rector had com- 
 fortably settled her upon the hearth-rug. 
 
The Hush before the Storm 275 
 
 " Pish ! tush ! my dear, there's not a cooler man 
 in Virginia," replied the Major, frowning; but for 
 the rest of the evening he brooded in troubled silence 
 in his easy chair. 
 
 In February, a week after a convention of the 
 people was called at Richmond, the old gentleman 
 surrendered to a sharp siege of the gout, and 
 through the long winter days he sat, red and queru- 
 lous, before the library fire, with his bandaged foot 
 upon the ottoman that wore Aunt Emmeline's wed- 
 ding dress. From Leicesterburg a stanch Union 
 man had gone to the convention; and the Major 
 still resented the selection of his neighbours as bit- 
 terly as if it were an affront to aspirations of his 
 own. 
 
 " Dick Powell ! Pooh ! he's another Peyton Am- 
 bler," he remarked testily, " and on my word there' re 
 too many of his kind — too many of his kind. What 
 we lack, sir, is men of spirit." 
 
 When his friends came now he shot his angry 
 questions, like bullets, from the fireside. " Haven't 
 they done anything yet, eh? How much longer do 
 you reckon that roomful of old women will gabble 
 in Richmond? Why, we might as well put a flock 
 of sheep to decide upon a measure ! " 
 
 But the " roomful of old women " would not be 
 hurried, and the Major grew almost hoarse with 
 scolding. For more than two months, while North 
 and South barked at each other across her borders, 
 Virginia patiently and fruitlessly worked for peace ; 
 and for more than two months the Major writhed a 
 prisoner upon the hearth. 
 
 With the coming of the spring his health mended, 
 
1^6 The Battle-Ground 
 
 and on an April morning, when Betty and the Gov- 
 ernor drove over for a quiet chat, they found him 
 limping painfully up and down the drive with the 
 help of a great gold-knobbed walking-stick. 
 
 He greeted them cordially, and limped after them 
 into the library where Mrs. Lightfoot sat knitting. 
 While he slowly settled his foot, in its loose " car- 
 pet " slipper, upon the ottoman, he began a rambling 
 story of the War of 1812, recalling with relish a 
 time when rations grew scant in camp, and " Will 
 Boiling and myself set out to scour the country." 
 His thoughts had made a quick spring backward, 
 and in the midst of events that fired the Governor's 
 blood, he could still fondly dwell upon the battles 
 of his youth. 
 
 The younger man, facing him upon the hearth, 
 listened with his patient courtesy, and put in a sym- 
 pathetic word at intervals. No personal anxiety 
 could cloud his comely face, nor any grievance of 
 his own sharpen the edge of his peculiar suavity. 
 It was only when he rose to go that he voiced, for a 
 single instant, his recognition of the general danger, 
 and replied to the Major's inquiry about his health 
 with the remark, " Ah, grave times make grave 
 faces, sir." 
 
 Then he bowed over Mrs. Lightfoot's hand, and 
 with his arm about Betty went out to the car- 
 riage. 
 
 " The Major's an old man, daughter," he ob- 
 served, as they rolled rapidly back to Uplands. 
 
 " You mean he has broken — " said Betty, and 
 stopped short. 
 
 " Since Dan went away." As the Governor com- 
 
The Hush before the Storm 277 
 
 pleted her sentence, he turned and looked thought- 
 fully into her face. " It's hard to judge the young, 
 my dear, but — " he broke off as Betty had done, 
 and added after a pause, " I wonder where he is 
 now? " 
 
 Betty raised her eyes and met his look. " I do 
 not know," she answered, " but I do know that he 
 will come back ; " and the Governor, being wise in 
 his generation, said nothing more. 
 
 That afternoon he went down into the country to 
 inspect a decayed plantation which had come into his 
 hands, and returning two days later, he rode into 
 Leicesterburg and up to the steps of the little post- 
 office, where, as usual, the neighbouring farmers 
 lounged while they waited for an expected despatch, 
 or discussed the midday mail with each newcomer. 
 It was April weather, and the afternoon sunshine, 
 having scattered the loose clouds in the west, slanted 
 brightly down upon the dusty street, the little white- 
 washed building, and the locust tree in full bloom 
 before the porch. 
 
 When he had dismounted, the Governor tied his 
 horse to the long white pole, raised for that pur- 
 pose along the sidewalk, and went slowly up the 
 steps, shaking a dozen outstretched hands before he 
 reached the door. 
 
 "What news, gentlemen?" he asked with his 
 pleasant smile. " For two days I have been beyond 
 the papers." 
 
 " Then there's news enough, Governor," re- 
 sponded several voices, uniting in a common excite- 
 ment. " There's news enough since Tuesday, and 
 yet we're waiting here for more. The President 
 
278 The Battle-Ground 
 
 has called for troops from Virginia to invade the 
 South." 
 
 " To invade the South," repeated the Governor, 
 paling, and a man behind him took up the words 
 and said them over with a fine sarcasm, " To in- 
 vade the South ! " 
 
 The Governor turned away and walked to the end 
 of the little porch, where he stood leaning upon the 
 railing. With his eyes on the blossoming locust 
 tree, he waited, in helpless patience, for the words 
 to enter into his thoughts and to readjust his con- 
 ceptions of the last few months. There slowly came 
 to him, as he recognized the portentous gravity in the 
 air about him, something of the significance of that 
 ringing call; and as he stood there he saw before 
 him the vision of an army led by strangers against 
 the people of its blood — of an army wasting the 
 soil it loved, warring for an alien right against the 
 convictions it clung to and the faith it cherished. 
 
 His brow darkened, and he turned with set lips to 
 the group upon the steps. He was about to speak, 
 but before the words were uttered, there was a cheer 
 from the open doorway, and a man, waving a de- 
 spatch in his hand, came running into the crowd. 
 
 " Last night there was a secret session," he cried 
 gayly, " and Virginia has seceded ! hurrah ! hur- 
 rah ! Virginia has seceded ! " The gay voice passed, 
 and the speaker, still waving the paper in his hand, 
 ran down into the street. 
 
 The men upon the porch looked at one another, 
 and were silent. In the bright sunshine their faces 
 showed pale and troubled, and when the sound of 
 cheers came floating from the courthouse green, 
 
The Hush before the Storm 279 
 
 they started as if at the first report of cannon. Then, 
 raising his hand, the Governor bared his head and 
 spoke : — 
 
 " God bless Virginia, gentlemen," he said. 
 
 The next week Champe came home from college, 
 flushed with enthusiasm, eager to test his steel. 
 
 " It's great news, uncle," were his first joyful 
 words, as he shook the Major's hand. 
 
 " That it is, my boy, that k is," chuckled the 
 Major, in a high good-humour. 
 
 " I'm going, you know," went on the young man 
 lightly. " They're getting up a company in Leices- 
 terburg, and I'm to be Captain. I got a letter about 
 it a week ago, and I've been studying like thunder 
 ever since." 
 
 " Well, well, it will be a pleasant little change for 
 you," responded the old man. " There's nothing 
 like a few weeks of war to give one an appetite." 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot looked up from her knitting with 
 a serious face. 
 
 " Don't you think it may last months, Mr. Light- 
 foot ? " she inquired dubiously. " I was wondering 
 if I hadn't better supply Champe with extra under- 
 clothing. 
 
 " Tut-tut, ma'am," protested the Major, warmly. 
 " Can't you leave such things as war to my judg- 
 ment? Haven't I been in two? Months! Non- 
 sense! Why, in two weeks we'll sweep every 
 Yankee in the country as far north as Greenland. 
 Two weeks will be ample time, ma'am." 
 
 " Well, I give them six months," generously re- 
 marked Champe, in defiance of the Major's gather- 
 ing frown. 
 
280 The Battle-Ground 
 
 "And what do you know about it, sir?" de- 
 manded the old gentleman. " Were you in the War 
 of 1 812 ? Were you even in the Mexican War, sir ? " 
 
 " Well, hardly," replied Champe, smiling, " but 
 all the same I give them six months to get whipped." 
 
 " I'm sure I hope it will be over before winter," 
 observed Mrs. Lightfoot, glancing round. " Things 
 will be a little upset, I fear." 
 
 The Major twitched with anger. " There you go 
 again — both of you ! " he exclaimed. " I might 
 suppose after all these years you would place some 
 reliance on my judgment ; but, no, you will keep up 
 your croaking until our troops are dictating terms 
 at Washington. Six months ! Tush ! " 
 
 " Professor Bates thinks it will take a year," re- 
 turned Champe, his interest overleaping his discre- 
 tion. 
 
 " And when did he fight, sir ? " inquired the 
 Major. 
 
 " Well, any way, it's safer to prepare for six 
 months," was Champe's rejoinder. " I shouldn't 
 like to run short of things, you know." 
 
 " You'll do nothing of the kind, sir," thundered 
 the Major. " It's going to be a two weeks' war, 
 and you shall take an outfit for two weeks, or stay 
 at home ! By God, sir, if you contradict me again 
 I'll not let you go to fight the Yankees." 
 
 Champe stared for an instant into the inflamed 
 face of the old gentleman, and then his cheery smile 
 broke out. 
 
 " That settles it, uncle," he said soothingly. " It's 
 to be a war of two weeks, and I'll come home a 
 Major-general before the holidays." 
 
BOOK THIRD 
 THE SCHOOL OF WAR 
 
BOOK THIRD 
 THE SCHOOL OF WAR 
 
 HOW MERRY GENTLEMEN WENT TO WAR 
 
 The July sun fell straight and hot upon the 
 camp, and Dan, as he sat on a woodpile and ate a 
 green apple, wistfully cast his eyes about for a 
 deeper shade. But the young tree from which he 
 had just shaken its last fruit stood alone between 
 the scattered tents and the blur of willows down 
 the gentle slope, and beneath its speckled shadow 
 the mess had gathered sleepily, after the mid- 
 day meal. 
 
 In the group of privates, stretched under the 
 gauzy shade on the trampled grass, the first thing 
 to strike an observer would have been, perhaps, 
 their surprising youth. They were all young — 
 the eldest hardly more than three and twenty 
 — and the faces bore a curious resemblance in type, 
 as if they were, one and all, variations from a com- 
 mon stock. There was about them, too, a peculiar 
 expression of enthusiasm, showing even in the faces 
 of those who slept; a single wave of emotion 
 which, rising to its height in an entire people re- 
 
 283 
 
284 The Battle-Ground 
 
 vealed itself in the features of the individual sol- 
 dier. As yet the flower of the South had not with- 
 ered on its stalk, and the men first gathered to 
 defend the borders were men who embraced a 
 cause as fervently as they would embrace a woman ; 
 men in whom the love of an abstract principle be- 
 came, not a religion, but a romantic passion. 
 
 Beyond them, past the scattered tents and the 
 piles of clean straw, the bruised grass of the field 
 swept down to a little stream and the fallen stones 
 that had once marked off the turnpike. Farther 
 away, there was a dark stretch of pines relieved 
 against the faint blue tracery of the distant moun- 
 tains. 
 
 Dan, sitting in the thin shelter on the woodpile, 
 threw a single glance at the strip of pines, and 
 brought back his gaze to Big Abel who was split- 
 ting an oak log hard by. The work had been 
 assigned to the master, who had, in turn, tossed it 
 to the servant, with the remark that he " came out 
 to kill men, not to cut wood." 
 
 " I say, Big Abel, this sun's blazing hot," he 
 now offered cheerfully. 
 
 Big Abel paused for a moment and wiped his brow 
 with his blue cotton sleeve. 
 
 " Dis yer ain' no oak, caze it's w'it-leather," he 
 rejoined in an injured tone, as he lifted the axe 
 and sent it with all his might into the shivering 
 log, which threw out a shower of fine chips. 
 The powerful stroke brought into play the negro's 
 splendid muscles, and Dan, watching him, carelessly 
 observed to a young fellow lying half asleep upon 
 the ground, " Big Abel could whip us all, Bland, if 
 he had a mind to." 
 
How Merry Gentlemen Went to War 285 
 
 Bland grunted and opened his eyes; then he 
 yawned, stretched his arms, and sat up against the 
 logs. He was bright and boyish-looking, with a 
 frank tanned face, which made his curling flaxen 
 hair seem almost white. 
 
 " I worked like a darky hauling yesterday," he 
 said reproachfully, " but when your turn comes, 
 you climb a woodpile and pass the job along. When 
 we go into battle I suppose Dandy and you 
 will sit down to boil coffee, and hand your muskets 
 to the servants." 
 
 " Oh, are we ever going into battle ? " growled 
 Jack Powell from the other side. " Here I've been 
 at this blamed drilling until I'm stiff in every joint, 
 and I haven't seen so much as the tail end of a 
 fight. You may rant as long as you please about 
 martial glory, but if there's any man who thinks 
 it's fun merely to get dirty and eat raw food, well, 
 he's welcome to my share of it, that's all. I haven't 
 had so much as one of the necessities of life since 
 I settled down in this old field; even my hair has 
 taken to standing on end. I say, Beau, do you hap- 
 pen to have any pomade about you? Oh, you 
 needn't jeer, Bland, there's no danger of your get- 
 ting bald, with that sheepskin over your scalp r 
 and, besides, I'm willing enough to sacrifice my 
 life for my country. I object only to giving it my 
 hair instead." 
 
 " I believe you'll find a little in my knapsack," 
 gravely replied Dan, to be assailed on the spot by 
 a chorus of comic demands. 
 
 " I say, Beau, have you any rouge on hand ? I'm 
 growing pale. Please drop a little cologne on 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 13 
 
286 The Battle-Ground 
 
 this handkerchief, my boy. May I borrow your 
 powder puff? I've been sitting in the sun. Don't 
 you want that gallon of stale buttermilk to take 
 your tan off, Miss Nancy ? " 
 
 " Oh, shut up ! " cried Dan, sharply ; " if you 
 choose to turn pigs simply because you've come out 
 to do a little fighting, I've nothing to say against 
 it; but I prefer to remain a gentleman, that's all." 
 
 " He prefers to remain a gentleman, that's all," 
 chanted the chorus round the apple tree. 
 
 " And I'll knock your confounded heads off, if 
 you keep this up," pursued Dan furiously. 
 
 " And he'll knock our confounded heads off, if we 
 keep this up," shouted the chorus in a jubilant re- 
 frain. 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you one thing," remarked Jack 
 Powell, feeling his responsibility in the matter of 
 the pomade. " All I've got to say is, if this is what 
 you call war, it's a pretty stale business. The next 
 time I want to be frisky, I'll volunteer to pass the 
 lemonade at a Sunday-school picnic." 
 
 " And has anybody called it war, Dandy ? " in- 
 quired Bland, witheringly. 
 
 " Well, somebody might, you know," replied Jack, 
 opening his fine white, shirt at the neck, " did I 
 hear you call it war, Kemper?" he asked politely, 
 as he punched a stout sleeper beside him. 
 
 Kemper started up and aimed a blow at vacancy. 
 " Oh, you heard the devil ! " he retorted. 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; it was mistaken identity," 
 returned Jack suavely. 
 
 " Look here, my lad, don't fool with Kemper 
 when he's hot," cautioned Bland. " He's red enough 
 
How Merry Gentlemen Went to War 287 
 
 to fire those bales of straw. I say, Kemper, may I 
 light my pipe at your face?" 
 
 " Shut up, now, or he'll be puffing round here 
 like a steam engine," said a small dark man named 
 Baker, " let smouldering fires lie on a day like this. 
 Give me a light, Dandy." 
 
 Jack Powell held out his cigar, and then, leaning 
 back against the tree, blew a cloud of smoke about 
 his head. 
 
 " I'll be blessed if I don't think seven hours' 
 drill is too much of a bad thing," he plaintively re- 
 marked ; " and I may as well add, by the bye, 
 that the next time I go to war, I intend to go in the 
 character of a Major-general." 
 
 " Make it Commander-in-chief. Don't be too 
 modest, my boy." 
 
 " Well, you may laugh if you like," pursued Jack, 
 " but between you and me, it was all the fault of 
 those girls at home — they have an idea that patri- 
 otism never trims its sleeves, you know. On my 
 word, I might have been Captain of the Leicester- 
 burg Guards after Champe Lightfoot joined the 
 cavalry; but such averted looks were turned from 
 me by the ladies, that I had to jump into the ranks 
 merely to reinstate myself in their regard. They 
 made even Governor Ambler volunteer as a private, 
 I believe, but he was lucky and got made a Colonel 
 instead." 
 
 Bland laughed softly. 
 
 " That reminds me of our Colonel," he observed. 
 " I overheard him talking to himself the other day, 
 and he said : ' All I ask is not to be in command 
 of a volunteer regiment in hell/ n 
 
288 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " Oh, he won't," put in Dan ; " all the volunteer 
 will be in heaven — unless they're sent down be- 
 low because they were too big fools to join the 
 cavalry." 
 
 " Then, in heaven's name, why didn't you join the 
 cavalry ? " inquired Baker. 
 
 Dan looked at him a moment, and then threw the 
 apple core at a water bucket that stood upside down 
 upon the grass. " Well, I couldn't go on my own 
 horse, you see," he replied, " and I wouldn't go on 
 the Government's. I don't ride hacks." 
 
 " So you came into the infantry to get court- 
 martialled," remarked Bland. " The captain said 
 down the valley, you'll remember, that if the war 
 lasted a month, you'd be court-martialled for dis- 
 obedience on the thirtieth day." 
 
 Dan growled under his breath. " Well, I didn't 
 enter the army to be hectored by any fool who 
 comes along," he returned. " Look at that fellow 
 Jones, now. He thinks because he happens to be 
 Lieutenant that he's got a right to forget that I'm 
 a gentleman and he's not. Why, the day before 
 we came up here, he got after me at drill about 
 being out of step, or some little thing like that; 
 and, by George, to hear him roar you'd have thought 
 that war wasn't anything but monkeying round 
 with a musket. Why, the rascal came from my 
 part of the country, and his father before him wasn't 
 fit to black my boots." 
 
 " Did you knock him down ? " eagerly inquired 
 Bland. 
 
 " I told him to take off his confounded finery and 
 I would," answered Dan. " So when drill was over, 
 
How Merry Gentlemen Went to War 289 
 
 we went off behind a tent, and I smashed his nose. 
 He's no coward, I'll say that for him, and when 
 the Captain told him he looked as if he'd been 
 fighting, he laughed and said he had had ' a little 
 personal encounter with the enemy.' " 
 
 " Well, I'm willing enough to do battle for my 
 country," said Jack Powell, " but I'll be blessed if 
 I'm going to have my elbow jogged by the poor 
 white trash while I'm doing it." 
 
 " He was scolding at us yesterday because when 
 we were detailed to clean out the camp, we gave 
 the order to the servants," put in Baker. " Clean 
 out the camp! Does he think my grandmother 
 was a chambermaid ? " He suddenly broke off and 
 helped himself to a drink of water from a dripping 
 bucket that a tall mountaineer was passing round 
 the group. 
 
 " Been to the creek, Pinetop ? " he asked good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 The mountaineer, who had won his title from 
 his great height, towering as he did above every 
 man in the company, nodded drowsily as he settled 
 himself upon the ground. He was lithe and hardy 
 as a young hickory, and his abundant hair was 
 of the colour of ripe wheat. At the call to arms 
 he had come, with long strides, down from his bare 
 little cabin in the Blue Ridge, bringing with him a 
 flintlock musket, a corncob pipe, and a stockingful 
 of Virginia tobacco. Since the day of his arrival, 
 he had accepted the pointed jokes of the mess into 
 which he had drifted, with grave lips and a flicker 
 of his calm blue eyes. They had jeered him un- 
 mercifully, and he had regarded them with serene 
 
igo The Battle-Ground 
 
 and wondering attention. " I say, Pinetop, is it 
 raining up where you are ? " a wit had put to him 
 on the first day, and he had looked down and an- 
 swered placidly : — 
 
 " Naw, it's cl'ar." 
 
 As he sat down in the group beside the woodpile, 
 Bland tossed him the latest paper, but carefully 
 folding it into a square, he laid it aside, and 
 stretched himself upon the brown grass. 
 
 " This here's powerful weather for sweatin'," 
 he pleasantly observed, as he pulled a mullein leaf 
 from the foot of the apple tree and placed it over 
 his eyes. Then he turned over and in a moment 
 was sleeping as quietly as a child. 
 
 Dan got down from the logs and stood thought- 
 fully staring in the direction of the happy little 
 town lying embosomed in green hills. That little 
 town gave to him, as he stood there in the noon 
 heat, a memory of deep gardens filled with fra- 
 grance, of open houses set in blue shadows, and 
 of the bright fluttering of Confederate flags. For 
 a moment he looked toward it down the hot road; 
 then, with a sigh, he turned away and wandered 
 off to seek the outside shadow of a tent. 
 
 As he flung himself down in the strip of shade, 
 his gaze went longingly to the dim chain of moun- 
 tains which showed like faint blue clouds against 
 the sky, while his thoughts returned, as a sick man's, 
 to the clustered elm boughs and the smooth lawn at 
 Chericoke, and to Betty blooming like a flower in 
 a network of sun and shade. 
 
 The memory was so vivid that when he closed 
 his eyes it was almost as if he heard the tapping of 
 
How Merry Gentlemen Went to War 291 
 
 the tree-tops against the roof, and felt the pleasant 
 breeze blowing over the sweet-smelling meadows. 
 He looked, through his closed eyes, into the dim 
 old house, seeing the rustling grasses in the great 
 blue jar and their delicate shadow trembling on the 
 pure white wall. There was the tender hush about 
 it that belongs to the memories of dead friends or 
 absent places : a hush that was reverent as a Sab- 
 bath calm. He saw the shining swords of the 
 Major and the Major's father; the rear door with 
 the microphylla roses nodding upon the lintel, and, 
 high above all, the shadowy bend of the staircase, 
 with Betty standing there in her cool blue gown. 
 
 He opened his eyes with a start, and pillowing his 
 head on his arm, lay looking off into the burning 
 distance. A bee, straying from a field of clover 
 across the road, buzzed, for a moment, round his 
 face, and then knocked, with a flapping noise, against 
 the canvas tent. Far away, beyond the murmur 
 of the camp, he heard a partridge whistling in a 
 tangled meadow; and at the same instant his own 
 name called through the sunlight. 
 
 " I say, Beau, Beau, where are you ? " He sat 
 up, and shouted in response, and Jack Powell 
 came hurriedly round the tent to fling himself down 
 upon the beaten grass. 
 
 " Oh, you don't know what you missed ! " he 
 cried, chuckling. " You didn't stay long enough 
 to hear the joke on Bland." 
 
 " I hope it's a fresh one," was Dan's response. 
 " If it's that old thing about the mule and the 
 darky, I may as well say in the beginning that I 
 heard it in the ark." 
 
192 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " Oh, it's new, old man. He made the mistake 
 of trying to get some fun out of Pinetop, and he 
 got more than he bargained for, that's all. He be- 
 gan to tease him about those blue jean trousers he 
 carries in his knapsack. You've seen them, I 
 reckon ? " 
 
 Dan nodded as he chewed idly at a blade of 
 grass. " I tried to get him to throw them away 
 yesterday," he said, " and he did go so far as to 
 haul them out and look them over; but after med- 
 itating a half hour, he packed them away again and 
 declared there was ' a sight of wear left in them 
 still.' He told me if he ever made up his mind to 
 get rid of them, and peace should come next day, 
 he'd never forgive himself." 
 
 " Well, I warned Bland not to meddle with him," 
 pursued Jack, " but he got bored and set in to make 
 things lively. ' Look here, Pinetop,' he began, ' will 
 you do me the favour to give me the name of the 
 tailor who made your blue jeans?' and, bless your 
 life, Pinetop just took the mullein leaf from his 
 eyes, and sang out ' Maw.' That was what Bland 
 wanted, of course, so, without waiting for the dan- 
 ger signal, he plunged in again. ' Then if you don't 
 object I should be glad to have the pattern of 
 them,' he went on, as smooth as butter. • I want 
 them to wear when I go home again, you know. 
 Why, they're just the things to take a lady's eye 
 — they have almost the fit of a flour-sack — and the 
 ladies are fond of flour, aren't they ? ' The whole 
 crowd was waiting, ready to howl at Pinetop's 
 answer, and, sure enough, he raised himself on his 
 elbow, and drawled out in his sing-song tone : ' I 
 
How Merry Gentlemen Went to War 293 
 
 say, Sonny, ain't yo' Maw done put you into 
 breeches yit ? ' " 
 
 " It serves him right," said Dan sternly, " and 
 that's what I like about Pinetop, Jack, there's no 
 ruffling him." He brushed off the bee that had fallen 
 on his head, and dodged as it angrily flew back 
 again. 
 
 " Some of the boys raised a row when he came 
 into our mess," returned Jack, " but where every 
 man's fighting for his country, we're all equal, say I. 
 What makes me dog-tired, though, is the airs some 
 of these fool officers put on ; all this talk about an 
 ' officer's mess ' now, as if a man is too good to eat 
 with me who wouldn't dare to sit down to my 
 table if he had on civilian's clothes. It's all bosh, 
 that's what it is." 
 
 He got up and strolled off with his grievance, 
 and Dan, stretching himself upon the ground, looked 
 across the hills, to the far mountains where the 
 shadows thickened. 
 
n 
 
 THE DAY'S MARCH 
 
 In the gray dawn tents were struck, and five 
 days' rations were issued with the marching orders. 
 As Dan packed his knapsack with trembling hands, 
 he saw men stalking back and forth like gigantic 
 shadows, and heard the hoarse shouting of the com- 
 pany officers through the thick fog which had rolled 
 down from the mountains. There was a persistent 
 buzz in the air, as if a great swarm of bees had set- 
 tled over the misty valley. Each man was asking 
 unanswerable questions of his neighbour. 
 
 At a little distance Big Abel, with several of the 
 company " darkies " was struggling energetically 
 over the property of the mess, storing the cooking 
 utensils into a stout camp chest, which the strength 
 of several men would lift, when filled, into the 
 wagon. Bland, who had just tossed his overcoat 
 across to them, turned abruptly upon Dan, and de- 
 manded warmly " what had become of his case of 
 
 razors 
 
 " Where are we going ? " was Dan's response, 
 as he knelt down to roll up his oilcloth and blanket. 
 " By Jove, it looks as if we'd gobble up Patterson 
 for breakfast ! " 
 
 " I say, where's my case of razors ? " inquired 
 Bland, with irritation. " They were lying here a 
 «94 
 
The Day's March 295 
 
 moment ago, and now they're gone. Dandy, have 
 you got my razors ? " 
 
 " Look here, Beau, what are you going to leave 
 behind ? " asked Kemper over Bland's shoulder. 
 
 "Leave behind? Why, dull care," rejoined Dan 
 gayly. " By the way, Pinetop, why don't you save 
 your appetite for Patterson's dainties ? " 
 
 Pinetop, who was leisurely eating his breakfast 
 of " hardtack " and bacon, took a long draught from 
 his tin cup, and replied, as he wiped his mouth on 
 his shirt sleeve, that he " reckoned thar wouldn't 
 be any trouble about finding room for them, too." 
 The general gayety was reflected in his face; he 
 laughed as he bit deeply into his half-cooked bacon. 
 
 Dan stood up and nervously strapped on his knap- 
 sack; then he swung his canteen over his shoulder 
 and carefully tightened his belt. His face was 
 flushed, and when he spoke his voice quivered with 
 emotion. It seemed to him that the delay of every 
 instant was a reckless waste of time, and he trem- 
 bled at the thought that the enemy might be pre- 
 paring to fall upon them unawares ; that while the 
 camp was swarming like an ant's nest, Patterson 
 and his men might be making good use of the fleet- 
 ing moments. 
 
 " Why the devil don't we move ? We ought to 
 move," he said angrily, as he glanced round the 
 crowded field where the men were arraying them- 
 selves in all the useless trappings of the Southern 
 volunteer. Kemper was busily placing his neces- 
 sary toilet articles in his haversack, having thrown 
 away half his rations for the purpose ; Jack Powell, 
 completely dressed for the march, was examining 
 
296 The Battle-Ground 
 
 his heavy revolver, with the conscious pride a 
 field officer might have felt in his sword. As he 
 stuck it into his belt, he straightened himself with 
 a laugh and jauntily set his small cap on his curling 
 hair; he was clean, comely, and smooth-shaven as 
 if he had just stepped from a hot bath and the hands 
 of his barber. 
 
 " You may roll Dandy in the dust and he'll come 
 out washed," Baker had once forcibly remarked. 
 
 " I say, boys, why don't we start ? " persisted Dan 
 impatiently, flicking with his handkerchief at a grain 
 of sand on his high boots. Then, as Big Abel 
 brought him a cup of coffee, he drank it standing, 
 casting eager glances over the rim of his cup. He 
 had an odd feeling that it was all a great fox hunt 
 they were soon to start upon ; that they were wait- 
 ing only for the calling of the hounds. The Major's 
 fighting blood had stirred within his grandson's 
 veins, and generations of dead Lightfoots were 
 scenting the coming battle from the dust. When 
 Dan thought now of the end to which he should 
 presently be marching, it suggested to him but a 
 quickened exhilaration of the pulses and an old en- 
 graving of " Waterloo," which hung on the dining- 
 room wall at Chericoke. That was war; and he 
 remembered vividly the childish thrill with which he 
 had first looked up at it. He saw the prancing horses, 
 the dramatic gestures of the generals with flowing 
 hair, the blur of waving flags and naked swords. 
 It was like a page torn from the eternal Romance; 
 a page upon which he and his comrades should 
 play heroic parts; and it was white blood, indeed, 
 that did not glow with the hope of sharing in that 
 
The Day's March 297 
 
 picture; of hanging immortal in an engraving on 
 the wall. 
 
 The " fall in " of the sergeant was already- 
 sounding from the road, and, with a last glance 
 about the field, Dan ran down the gentle slope and 
 across the little stream to take his place in the ranks 
 of the forming column. An officer on a milk-white 
 horse was making frantic gestures to the line, and 
 the young man followed him an instant with his 
 eyes. Then, as he stood there in the warm sun- 
 shine, he felt his impatience prick him like a needle. 
 He wanted to push forward the regiments in front 
 of him, to start in any direction — only to start. 
 The suppressed excitement of the fox hunt was 
 upon him, and the hoarse voices of the officers 
 thrilled him as if they were the baying of the 
 hounds. He heard the musical jingle of moving 
 cavalry, the hurried tread of feet in the soft dust, 
 the smothered oaths of men who stumbled over the 
 scattered stones. And, at last, when the sun stood 
 high above, the long column swung off toward 
 the south, leaving the enemy and the north be- 
 hind it. 
 
 " By God, we're running away," said Bland in a 
 whisper. With the words the gayety passed sud- 
 denly from the army, and it moved slowly with the 
 dispirited tread of beaten men. The enemy lay to 
 the north, and it was marching to the south and 
 home. 
 
 As it passed through the fragrant streets of 
 Winchester, women, with startled eyes, ran from 
 open doors into the deep old gardens, and watched 
 it over the honeysuckle hedges. Under the flutter- 
 
298 The Battle-Ground 
 
 ing flags, past the long blue shadows, with the 
 playing of the bands and the clatter of the canteens 
 — on it went into the white dust and the sunshine. 
 From a wide piazza a group of schoolgirls pelted the 
 troops with roses, and as Dan went by he caught 
 a white bud and stuck it into his cap. He looked 
 back laughing, to meet the flash of laughing eyes; 
 then the gray line swept out upon the turnpike and 
 went down the broad road through the smooth 
 green fields, over which the sunlight lay like melted 
 gold. 
 
 Dan, walking between Pinetop and Jack Powell, 
 felt a sudden homesickness for the abandoned 
 camp, which they were leaving with the gay little 
 town and the red clay forts, naked to the enemy's 
 guns. He saw the branching apple tree, the burned- 
 out fires, the silvery fringe of willows by the 
 stream; and he saw the men in blue already in 
 possession of his woodpile, broiling their bacon by 
 the logs that Big Abel had cut. 
 
 At the end of three miles the brigades abruptly 
 halted, and he listened, looking at the ground, to 
 an order, which was read by a slim young officer 
 who pulled nervously at his moustache. Down the 
 column came a single ringing cheer, and, without 
 waiting for the command, the men pushed eagerly 
 forward along the road. What was a forced march 
 of thirty miles to an army that had never seen a 
 battle? 
 
 As they went on a boyish merriment tripped 
 lightly down the turnpike ; jests were shouted, a wit 
 began to tease a mounted officer who was trying 
 to reach the front, and somebody with a tenor voice 
 
The Day's March 299 
 
 was singing " Dixie." A stray countryman, sit- 
 ting upon the wall of loose stones, was greeted af- 
 fectionately by each passing company. He was 
 a big, stupid-looking man, with a gray fowl hang- 
 ing, head downward, from his hand, and as he re- 
 sponded " Howdy," in an expressionless tone, the 
 fowl craned its long neck upward and pecked at the 
 creeper on the wall. 
 
 "Howdy, Jim!" "Howdy, Peter!" "Howdy, 
 Luke ! " sang the first line. " How's your wife ? " 
 " How's your wife's mother? " " How's your sister- 
 in-law's uncle ? " inquired the next. The coun- 
 tryman spat into the ditch and stared solemnly in 
 reply, and the gray fowl, still craning its neck, 
 pecked steadily at the leaves upon the stones. 
 
 Dan looked up into the blue sky, across the open 
 meadows to the far-off low mountains, and then 
 down the long turnpike where the dust hung in a 
 yellow cloud. In the bright sunshine he saw the 
 flash of steel and the glitter of gold braid, and the 
 noise of tramping feet cheered him like music as he 
 walked on gayly, filled with visions. For was he 
 not marching to his chosen end — to victory, to 
 Chericoke — to Betty? Or if the worst came 
 to the worst — well, a man had but one life, after 
 all, and a life was a little thing to give his country. 
 Then, as always, his patriotism appealed to him as 
 a romance rather than a religion — the fine South- 
 ern ardour which had sent him, at the first call, into 
 the ranks, had sprung from an inward, not an out- 
 ward pressure. The sound of the bugle, the flutter- 
 ing of the flags, the flash of hot steel in the sun- 
 light, the high old words that stirred men's pulses 
 
300 The Battle-Ground 
 
 — these things were his by blood and right of heri- 
 tage. He could no more have stifled the impulse 
 that prompted him to take a side in any fight 
 than he could have kept his heart cool beneath 
 the impassioned voice of a Southern orator. 
 The Major's blood ran warm through many genera- 
 tions. 
 
 " I say, Beau, did you put a millstone in my 
 knapsack ? " inquired Bland suddenly. His face 
 was flushed, and there was a streak of wet dust 
 across his forehead. "If you did, it was a dirty 
 joke," he added irritably. Dan laughed. " Now 
 that's odd," he replied, " because there's one in 
 mine also, and, moreover, somebody has stuck pen- 
 knives in my boots. Was it you, Pinetop?" 
 
 But the mountaineer shook his head in silence, 
 and then, as they halted to rest upon the roadside, 
 he flung himself down beneath the shadow of a 
 sycamore, and raised his canteen to his lips. He 
 had come leisurely at his long strides, and as Dan 
 looked at him lying upon the short grass by the 
 wall, he shook his own roughened hair, in im- 
 patient envy. " Why, you've stood it like a Major, 
 Pinetop," he remarked. 
 
 Pinetop opened his eyes. "Stood what?" he 
 drawled. 
 
 " Why, this heat, this dust, this whole con- 
 founded march. I don't believe you've turned a 
 hair, as Big Abel says." 
 
 " Good Lord," said Pinetop. " I don't reckon 
 you've ever ploughed up hill with a steer team." 
 
 Without replying, Dan unstrapped his knapsack 
 and threw it upon the roadside. " What doesn't go 
 
The Day's March 301 
 
 in my haversack, doesn't go, that's all," he observed. 
 " How about you, Dandy ? " 
 
 " Oh, I threw mine away a mile after starting," 
 returned Jack Powell, " my luxuries are with a girl 
 I left behind me. I've sacrificed everything to the 
 cause except my toothbrush, and, by Jove, if the 
 weight of that goes on increasing, I shall be forced 
 to dispense with it forever. I got rid of my rations 
 long ago. Pinetop says a man can't starve in black- 
 berry season, and I hope he's right. Anyway, the 
 Lord will provide — or he won't, that's certain." 
 
 "Is this the reward of faith, I wonder?" said 
 Dan, as he looked at a lame old negro who wheeled 
 a cider cart and a tray of green apple pies down a 
 red clay lane that branched off under thick locust 
 trees. " This way, Uncle, here's your man." 
 
 The old negro slowly approached them to be in- 
 stantly surrounded by the thirsty regiment. 
 
 " Howdy, Marsters ? howdy ? " he began, pulling 
 his grizzled hair. " Dese yer's right nice pies, dat 
 dey is, suh." 
 
 " Look here, Uncle, weren't they made in the 
 ark, now?" inquired Bland jestingly, as he bit into 
 a greasy crust. 
 
 " De ark ? naw, suh ; my Mehaley she des done 
 bake 'em in de cabin over yonder." He lifted his 
 shrivelled hand and pointed, with a tremulous 
 gesture, to a log hut showing among the distant 
 trees. 
 
 " What ? are you a free man, Uncle ? " 
 
 " Free ? Go 'way f om yer ! ain' you never 
 hyearn tell er Marse Plunkett ? " 
 
 "Plunkett?" gravely repeated Bland, filling hi* 
 
302 The Battle-Ground 
 
 canteen with cider. " Look here, stand back, boys, 
 it's my turn now. — Plunkett — Plunkett — can 
 I have a long-lost friend named Plunkett? Where 
 is he, Uncle ? has he gone to fight ? " 
 
 " Marse Plunkett? Naw, suh, he am' fit no- 
 body." 
 
 " Well, you tell him from me that he'd better 
 enlist at once," put in Jack Powell. " This isn't 
 the time for skulkers, Uncle ; he's on our side, isn't 
 he ? " The old negro shook his head, looking uneas- 
 ily at the froth that dripped from the keg into the 
 dust. 
 
 " Naw, suh, Marse Plunkett, he's fur de Un'on, 
 but he's pow'ful feared er de Yankees," he returned. 
 
 Bland broke into a laugh. " Oh, come, that's 
 downright treason," he protested merrily. " Your 
 Marse Plunkett's a skulker sure enough, and you 
 may tell him so with my compliments. You're on 
 the Yankee side, too, I reckon, and there're bullets 
 in these pies, sure as I live." 
 
 The old man shuffled nervously on his bare feet. 
 
 " Go 'way, Marster, w'at I know 'bout ' sides ' ? " 
 he replied, tilting his keg to drain the last few drops 
 into the canteen of a thirsty soldier. " I'se on de 
 Lawd's side, dat's whar I is." 
 
 He fell back startled, for the call of " Column, 
 forward ! " was shouted down the road, and in an 
 instant the men had left the emptied cart, and were 
 marching on into the sunny distance. 
 
 As the afternoon lengthened the heat grew more 
 oppressive. Straight ahead there was dust and 
 sunshine and the ceaseless tramp, and on either 
 side the fresh fields were scorched and whitened by 
 
The Day's March 303 
 
 a powdering of hot sand. Beyond the rise and dip 
 of the hills, the mountains burned like blue flames 
 on the horizon, and overhead the sky was hard as 
 an inverted brazier. 
 
 Dan had begun to limp, for his stiff boots galled 
 his feet. His senses were blunted by the hot sand 
 which filled his eyes and ears and nostrils, and there 
 was a shimmer over all the broad landscape. When 
 he shook his hair from his forehead, the dust floated 
 slowly down and settled in a scorching ring about 
 his neck. 
 
 The day closed gradually, and as they neared the 
 river, the mountains emerged from obscure outlines 
 into wooded heights upon which the trees showed 
 soft and gray in the sunset. A cool breath was 
 blown through a strip of damp woodland, where 
 the pale bodies of the sycamores were festooned in 
 luxuriant vines, and from the twilight long shadows 
 stretched across the red clay road. Then, as they 
 went down a rocky slope, a fringe of willows ap- 
 peared suddenly from the blur of green, and they 
 saw the Shenandoah running between falling banks, 
 with the colours of the sunset floating like pink 
 flowers upon its breast. 
 
 With a shout the front line plunged into the 
 stream, holding its heavy muskets high above the 
 current of the water, and filing upon the opposite 
 bank, into a rough road which wound amid the 
 ferns. 
 
 Midway of the river, near the fording point, there 
 was a little island which lay like a feathery tree- 
 top upon the tinted water; and as Dan went by, 
 he felt the brush of willows on his face and heard 
 
304 The Battle- Ground 
 
 the soft lapping of the small waves upon the shore. 
 The keen smell of the sycamores drifted to him from 
 the bank that he had left, and straight up stream 
 he saw a single peaked blue hill upon which a white 
 cloud rested. For a moment he lingered, breathing 
 in the fragrance, then the rear line pressed upon 
 him, and, crossing rapidly, he stood on the rocky 
 edge, shaking the water from his clothes. Out of 
 the after-glow came the steady tramp of tired feet, 
 and with aching limbs, he turned and hastened with 
 the column into the mountain pass. 
 
Ill 
 
 THE REIGN OF THE BRUTE 
 
 The noise of the guns rolled over the green hills 
 into the little valley where the regiment had halted 
 before a wayside spring, which lay hidden beneath 
 a clump of rank pokeberry. As each company filled 
 its canteens, it filed across the sunny road, from 
 which the dust rose like steam, and stood resting in 
 an open meadow that swept down into a hollow 
 between two gently rising hills. From the spring 
 a thin stream trickled, bordered by short grass, and 
 the water, dashed from it by the thirsty men, gath- 
 ered in shining puddles in the red clay road. By 
 one of these puddles a man had knelt to wash his 
 face, and as Dan passed, draining hie canteen, he 
 looked up with a sprinkling of brown drops on his 
 forehead. Near him, unharmed by the tramping feet, 
 a little purple flower was blooming in the mud. 
 
 Dan gazed thoughtfully down upon him and upon 
 the little purple flower in its dangerous spot. What 
 did mud or dust matter, he questioned grimly, when 
 in a breathing space they would be in the midst of 
 the smoke that hung close above the hill-top ? The 
 sound of the cannon ceased suddenly, as abruptly as 
 if the battery had sunk into the ground, and through 
 the sunny air he heard a long rattle that reminded 
 305 
 
306 The Battle-Ground 
 
 him of the fall of hail on the shingled roof at Cheri- 
 coke. As his canteen struck against his side, it 
 seemed to him that it met the resistance of a leaden 
 weight. There was a lump in his throat and his 
 lips felt parched, though the moisture from the 
 fresh spring water was hardly dried. When he 
 moved he was conscious of stepping high above the 
 earth, as he had done once at college after an over- 
 merry night and many wines. 
 
 Straight ahead the sunshine lay hot and still over 
 the smooth fields and the little hollow where a brook 
 ran between marshy banks. High above he saw it 
 flashing on the gray smoke that hung in tatters from 
 the tree-tops on the hill. 
 
 An ambulance, drawn by a white and a bay horse, 
 turned gayly from the road into the meadow, and 
 he saw, with surprise, that one of the surgeons was 
 trimming his finger nails with a small penknife. 
 The surgeon was a slight young man, with pointed 
 yellow whiskers, and light blue eyes that squinted 
 in the sunshine. As he passed he stifled a yawn 
 with an elaborate affectation of unconcern. 
 
 A man on horseback, with a white handkerchief 
 tied above his collar, galloped up and spoke in a 
 low voice to the Colonel. Then, as his horse reared, 
 he glanced nervously about, grew embarrassed, and, 
 with a sharp jerk of the bridle, galloped off again 
 across the field. Presently other men rode back 
 and forth along the road; there were so many of 
 them that Dan wondered, bewildered, if anybody 
 was left to make the battle beyond the hill. 
 
 The regiment formed into line and started at 
 " double quick " across the broad meadow powdered 
 
The Reign of the Brute 307 
 
 white with daisies. As it went into the ravine, 
 skirting the hillside, a stream of men came toward 
 it and passed slowly to the rear. Some were on 
 stretchers, some were stumbling in the arms of 
 slightly wounded comrades, some were merely 
 warm and dirty and very much afraid. One and all 
 advised the fresh regiment to " go home and 
 finish ploughing." " The Yankees have got us on 
 the hip," they declared emphatically. " Whoopee ! 
 it's as hot as hell where you're going." Then a boy, 
 with a blood-stained sleeve, waved his shattered 
 arm in the air and laughed deliriously. " Don't 
 believe them, friends, it's glorious ! " he cried, in 
 the voice of the far South, and lurched forward 
 upon the grass. 
 
 The sight of the soaked shirt and the smell of 
 blood turned Dan faint. He felt a sudden tremor 
 in his limbs, and his arteries throbbed dully in his 
 ears. " I didn't know it was like this," he muttered 
 thickly. " Why, they're no better than mangled 
 rabbits — I didn't know it was like this." 
 
 They wound through the little ravine, climbed a 
 hillside planted in thin corn, and were ordered to 
 " load and lie down " in a strip of woodland. Dan 
 tore at his cartridge with set teeth; then as he 
 drove his ramrod home, a shell, thrown from a dis- 
 tant gun, burst in the trees above him, and a red 
 flame ran, for an instant, along the barrel of his 
 musket. He dodged quickly, and a rain of young 
 pine needles fell in scattered showers from the 
 smoked boughs overhead. Somewhere beside him 
 a man was groaning in terror or in pain. " I'm hit, 
 boys, by God, I'm hit this time." The groans 
 
308 The Battle-Ground 
 
 changed promptly into a laugh. " Bless my soul ! 
 the plagued thing went right into the earth be- 
 neath me." 
 
 " Damn you, it went into my leg," retorted a 
 hoarse voice that fell suddenly silent. 
 
 With a shiver Dan lay down on the carpet of 
 rotted pine-cones and peered, like a squirrel, through 
 the meshes of the brushwood. At first he saw only 
 gray smoke and a long sweep of briers and broom- 
 sedge, standing out dimly from an obscurity that 
 was thick as dusk. Then came a clatter near at 
 hand, and a battery swept at a long gallop across 
 the thinned edge of the pines. So close it came that 
 he saw the flashing white eyeballs and the spread- 
 ing sorrel manes of the horses, and almost felt their 
 hot breath upon his cheek. He heard the shouts 
 of the outriders, the crack of the stout whips, the 
 rattle of the caissons, and, before it passed, he had 
 caught the excited gestures of the men upon the 
 guns. The battery unlimbered, as he watched it, 
 shot a few rounds from the summit of the hill, and 
 retreated rapidly to a new position. When the 
 wind scattered the heavy smoke, he saw only the 
 broom-sedge and several ridges of poor corn ; some 
 of the gaunt stalks blackened and beaten to the 
 ground, some still flaunting their brave tassels be- 
 neath the whistling bullets. It was all in sun- 
 light, and the gray smoke swept ceaselessly to and 
 fro over the smiling face of the field. 
 
 Then, as he turned a little in his shelter, he saw 
 that there was a single Confederate battery in posi- 
 tion under a slight swell on his left. Beyond it he 
 knew that the long slope sank gently into a marshy 
 
The Reign of the Brute 309 
 
 stream and the broad turnpike, but the brow of the 
 hill went up against the sky, and hidden in the 
 brushwood he could see only the darkened line of 
 the horizon. Against it the guns stood there in 
 the sunlight, unsupported, solitary, majestic, while 
 around them the earth was tossed up in the air as if 
 a loose plough had run wild across the field. A 
 handful of artillerymen moved back and forth, like 
 dim outlines, serving the guns in a group of fallen 
 horses that showed in dark mounds upon the hill. 
 From time to time he saw a rammer waved ex- 
 citedly as a shot went home, or heard, in a lull, the 
 hoarse voices of the gunners when they called for 
 " grape ! " 
 
 As he lay there, with his eyes on the solitary 
 battery, he forgot, for an instant, his own part in 
 the coming work. A bullet cut the air above him, 
 and a branch, clipped as by a razor's stroke, fell 
 upon his head; but his nerves had grown steady 
 and his thoughts were not of himself; he was 
 watching, with breathless interest, for another of 
 the gray shadows at the guns to go down among 
 the fallen horses. 
 
 Then, while he watched, he saw other batteries 
 come out upon the hill ; saw the cannon thrown into 
 position and heard the call change from " grape ! " 
 to " canister ! " On the edge of the pines a voice 
 was speaking, and beyond the voice a man on horse- 
 back was riding quietly back and forth in the open. 
 Behind him Jack Powell called out suddenly, 
 " We're ready, Colonel Burwell ! " and his voice was 
 easy, familiar, almost affectionate. 
 
 " I know it, boys ! " replied the Colonel in the 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 14 
 
310 The Battle-Ground 
 
 same tone, and Dan felt a quick sympathy spring 
 up within him. At that instant he knew that he 
 loved every man in the regiment beside him — loved 
 the affectionate Colonel, with the sleepy voice, loved 
 Pinetop, loved the lieutenant whose nose he had 
 broken after drill. 
 
 At a word he had leaped, with the others, to his 
 feet, and stood drawn up for battle against the 
 wood. Then it was that he saw the General of the 
 day riding beside fluttering colours across the 
 waste land to the crest of the hill. He was rallying 
 the scattered brigades about the flag — so the fight 
 had gone against them and gone badly, after all. 
 
 Around him the men drifted back, frightened, 
 straggling, defeated, and the broken ranks closed 
 up slowly. The standards dipped for a moment be- 
 fore a sharp fire, and then, as the colour bearers 
 shook out the bright folds, soared like great red 
 birds' wings above the smoke. 
 
 It seemed to Dan that he stood for hours motion- 
 less there against the pines. For a time the fight 
 passed away from him, and he remembered a moun- 
 tain storm which had caught him as a boy in the 
 woods at Chericoke. He heard again the cloud burst 
 overhead, the soughing of the pines and the crackling 
 of dried branches as they came drifting down 
 through interlacing boughs. The old childish terror 
 returned to him, and he recalled his mad rush for 
 light and space when he had doubled like a hare in 
 the wooded twilight among the dim bodies of the 
 trees. Then as now it was not the open that he 
 feared, but the unseen horror of the shelter. 
 
 Again the affectionate voice came from the sun- 
 
The Reign of the Brute 311 
 
 light and he gripped his musket as he started for- 
 ward. He had caught only the last words, and he 
 repeated them half mechanically, as he stepped out 
 from the brushwood. Once again, when he stood 
 on the trampled broom-sedge, he said them over 
 with a nervous jerk, " Wait until they come within 
 fifty yards — and, for God's sake, boys, shoot at the 
 knees ! " 
 
 He thought of the jolly Colonel, and laughed 
 hysterically. Why, he had been at that man's wed- 
 ding — had kissed his bride — and now he was beg- 
 ging him to shoot at people's knees ! 
 
 With a cheer, the regiment broke from cover and 
 swept forward toward the summit of the hill. Dan's 
 foot caught in a blackberry vine, and he stumbled 
 blindly. As he regained himself a shell ripped, up 
 the ground before him, flinging the warm clods of 
 earth into his face. A " worm " fence at a little 
 distance scattered beneath the fire, and as he looked 
 up he saw the long rails flying across the field. For 
 an instant he hesitated ; then something that was 
 like a nervous spasm shook his heart, and he was no 
 more afraid. Over the blackberries and the broom- 
 sedge, on he went toward the swirls of golden dust 
 that swept upward from the bright green slope. If 
 this was a battle, what was the old engraving? 
 Where were the prancing horses and the uplifted 
 swords ? 
 
 Something whistled in his ears and the air was 
 filled with sharp sounds that set his teeth on edge. 
 A man went down beside him and clutched at his 
 boots as he ran past ; but the smell of the battle — 
 a smell of oil and smoke, of blood and sweat — was 
 
3il The Battle-Ground 
 
 in his nostrils, and he could have kicked the stiff 
 hands grasping at his feet. The hot old blood of his 
 fathers had stirred again and the dead had rallied 
 to the call of their descendant. He was not afraid, 
 for he had been here long before. 
 
 .Behind him, and beside him, row after row of 
 gray men leaped from the shadow — the very hill 
 seemed rising to his support — and it was almost 
 gayly, as the dead fighters lived again, that he went 
 straight onward over the sunny field. He saw the 
 golden dust float nearer up the slope, saw the brave 
 flags unfurling in the breeze — saw, at last, man 
 after man emerge from the yellow cloud. As he 
 bent to fire, the fury of the game swept over him 
 and aroused the sleeping brute within him. All the 
 primeval instincts, throttled by the restraint of cen- 
 turies — the instincts of bloodguiltiness, of hot pur- 
 suit, of the fierce exhilaration of the chase, of the 
 death grapple with a resisting foe — these awoke 
 suddenly to life and turned the battle scarlet to his 
 eyes. 
 
 Two hours later, when the heavy clouds were 
 smothering the sunset, he came slowly back across 
 the field. A gripping nausea had seized upon him 
 — a nausea such as he had known before after 
 that merry night at college. His head throbbed, and 
 as he walked he staggered like a drunken man. 
 The revulsion of his overwrought emotions had 
 thrown him into a state of sensibility almost hyster- 
 ical. 
 
 The battle-field stretched grimly round him, and 
 as the sunset was blotted out, a gray mist crept 
 
The Reign of the Brute 313 
 
 slowly from the west. Here and there he saw men 
 looking for the wounded, and he heard one utter 
 an impatient " Pshaw ! " as he lifted a half-cold 
 body and let it fall. Rude stretchers went by him 
 on either side, and still the field seemed as thickly 
 sown as before; on the left, where a regiment of 
 Zouaves had been cut down, there was a flash of 
 white and scarlet, as if the loose grass was strewn 
 with great tropical flowers. Among them he saw 
 the reproachful eyes of dead and dying horses. 
 
 Before him, on the gradual slope of the hill, stood 
 a group of abandoned guns, and there was some- 
 thing almost human in the pathos of their utter iso- 
 lation. Around them the ground was scorched and 
 blackened, and scattered over the broken trails lay 
 the men who had fallen at their post. He saw them 
 lying there in the fading daylight, with the sponges 
 and the rammers still in their hands, and he saw 
 upon each man's face the look with which he had met 
 and recognized the end. Some were smiling, some 
 staring, and one lay grinning as if at a ghastly joke. 
 Near him a boy, with the hair still damp on his 
 forehead, had fallen upon an uprooted blackberry 
 vine, and the purple stain of the berries was on his 
 mouth. As Dan looked down upon him, the smell 
 of powder and burned grass came to him with a 
 wave of sickness, and turning he stumbled on across 
 the field. At the first step his foot struck upon 
 something hard, and, picking it up, he saw that it 
 was a Minie ball, which, in passing through a man's 
 spine, had been transformed into a mass of mingled 
 bone and lead. With a gesture of disgust he 
 dropped it and went on rapidly. A stretcher moved 
 
314 The Battle-Ground 
 
 beside him, and the man on it, shot through the 
 waist, was saying in a whisper, "It is cold — cold 
 — so cold." Against his will, Dan found, he had 
 fallen into step with the men who bore the stretcher, 
 and together they kept time to the words of the 
 wounded soldier who cried out ceaselessly that it 
 was cold. On their way they passed a group on 
 horseback and, standing near it, a handsome ar- 
 tilleryman, who wore a red flannel shirt with one 
 sleeve missing. As Dan went on he discovered that 
 he was thinking of the handsome man in the red 
 shirt and wondering how he had lost his missing 
 sleeve. He pondered the question as if it were a 
 puzzle, and, finally, yielded it up in doubt. 
 
 Beyond the base of the hill they came into the 
 small ravine which had been turned into a rude 
 field hospital. Here the stretcher was put down, 
 and a tired-looking surgeon, wiping his hands upon 
 a soiled towel, came and knelt down beside the 
 wounded man. 
 
 " Bring a light — I can't see — bring a light ! " 
 he exclaimed irritably, as he cut away the clothes 
 with gentle fingers. 
 
 Dan was passing on, when he heard his name 
 called from behind, and turning quickly found 
 Governor Ambler anxiously regarding him. 
 
 " You're not hurt, my boy ? " asked the Governor, 
 and from his tone he might have parted from the 
 younger man only the day before. 
 
 "Hurt? Oh, no, I'm not hurt," replied Dan a 
 little bitterly, " but there's a whole field of them 
 back there, Colonel." 
 
 " Well, I suppose so — I suppose so," returned 
 
The Reign of the Brute 315 
 
 the other absently. " I'm looking after my men 
 now, poor fellows. A victory doesn't come cheap, 
 you know, and thank God, it was a glorious vic- 
 tory." 
 
 " A glorious victory," repeated Dan, looking at 
 the surgeons who were working by the light of 
 tallow candles. 
 
 The Governor followed his gaze. " It's your 
 first fight," he said, " and you haven't learned your 
 lesson as I learned mine in Mexico. The best, or 
 the worst of it, is that after the first fight it comes 
 easy, my boy, it comes too easy." 
 
 There was hot blood in him also, thought Dan, 
 as he looked at him — and yet of all the men that he 
 had ever known he would have called the Governor 
 the most humane. 
 
 " I dare say — I'll get used to it, sir," he an- 
 swered. " Yes, it was a glorious victory." 
 
 He broke away and went off into the twilight 
 over the wide meadow to the little wayside spring. 
 Across the road there was a field of clover, where a 
 few campfires twinkled, and he hastened toward it 
 eager to lie down in the darkness and fall asleep. 
 As his feet sank in the moist earth, he looked down 
 and saw that the little purple flower was still bloom- 
 ing in the mud. 
 
IV 
 
 AFTER THE BATTLE 
 
 The field of trampled clover looked as if a wind- 
 storm had swept over it, strewing the contents of a 
 dozen dismantled houses. There were stacks of 
 arms and piles of cooking utensils, knapsacks, half 
 emptied, lay beside the charred remains of fires, and 
 loose fence rails showed red and white glimpses of 
 playing cards, hidden, before the fight, by super- 
 stitious soldiers. 
 
 Groups of men were scattered in dark spots over 
 the field, and about them stragglers drifted slowly 
 back from the road to Centreville. There was no 
 discipline, no order — regiment was mixed with 
 regiment, and each man was hopelessly inquiring 
 for his lost company. 
 
 As Dan stepped over the fallen fence upon the 
 crushed pink heads of the clover, he came upon a 
 circle of privates making merry over a lunch basket 
 they had picked up on the turnpike — a basket 
 brought by one of the Washington parties who had 
 gayly driven out to watch the battle. A broken fence 
 rail was ablaze in the centre of the group, and as the 
 red light fell on each soiled and unshaven face, it 
 stood out grotesquely from the surrounding gloom. 
 Some were slightly wounded, some had merely 
 scented the battle from behind the hill — all were 
 
 316 
 
After the Battle 317 
 
 drinking rare wine in honour of the early ending of 
 the war. As Dan looked past them over the darken- 
 ing meadow, where the returning soldiers drifted 
 aimlessly across the patches of red light, he asked 
 himself almost impatiently if this were the pure and 
 patriotic army that held in its ranks the best born of 
 the South? To him, standing there, it seemed but 
 a loosened mass, without strength and without co- 
 hesion, a mob of schoolboys come back from a sham 
 battle on the college green. It was his first fight, 
 and he did not know that what he looked upon was 
 but the sure result of an easy victory upon the un- 
 disciplined ardour of raw troops — that the sinews 
 of an army are wrought not by a single trial, but by 
 the strain of prolonged and strenuous endeavour. 
 
 " I say, do you reckon they'll lemme go home ter- 
 morrow ? " inquired a slightly wounded man in the 
 group before him. " Thar's my terbaccy needs 
 lookin' arter or the worms 'ull eat it clean up 'fo' I 
 git thar." He shook the shaggy hair from his face, 
 and straightened the white cotton bandage about his 
 chin. On the right side, where the wound was, his 
 thick sandy beard had been cut away, and the out- 
 standing tuft on his left cheek gave him a peculiarly 
 ill-proportioned look. 
 
 " Lordy ! I tell you we gave it ter 'em ! " ex- 
 claimed another in excited jerks. "Fight! Wall, 
 that's what I call fightin', leastways it's put. I 
 declar' I reckon I hit six Yankees plum on the head 
 with the butt of this here musket." 
 
 He paused to knock the head off a champagne 
 bottle, and lifting the broken neck to his lips drained 
 the foaming wine, which spilled in white froth upon 
 
318 The Battle-Ground 
 
 his clothes. His face was red in the firelight, and 
 when he spoke his words rolled like marbles from 
 his tongue. Dan, looking at him, felt a curious con- 
 viction that the man had not gone near enough to 
 the guns to smell the powder. 
 
 " Wall, it may be so, but I ain't seed you," re- 
 turned the first speaker, contemptuously, as he 
 stroked his bandage. " I was thar all day and I 
 ain't seed you raise no special dust." 
 
 " Oh, I ain't claimin' nothin' special," put in the 
 other, discomfited. 
 
 " Six is a good many, I reckon," drawled the 
 wounded man, reflectively, " and I ain't sayin' I 
 settled six on 'em hand to hand — I ain't sayin' 
 that." He spoke with conscious modesty, as if the 
 smallness of his assertion was equalled only by the 
 greatness of his achievements. " I ain't sayin' I 
 settled more'n three on 'em, I reckon." 
 
 Dan left the group and went on slowly across the 
 field, now and then stumbling upon a sleeper who 
 lay prone upon the trodden clover, obscured by the 
 heavy dusk: The mass of the army was still some- 
 where on the long road — only the exhausted, the 
 sickened, or the unambitious drifted back to fall 
 asleep upon the uncovered ground. 
 
 As Dan crossed the meadow he drew near to a 
 knot of men from a Kentucky regiment, gathered in 
 the light of a small wood fire, and recognizing one 
 of them, he stopped to inquire for news of his miss- 
 ing friends. 
 
 " Oh, you wouldn't know your sweetheart on a 
 night like this," replied the man he knew — a big 
 handsome fellow, with a peculiar richness of voice. 
 
After the Battle 319 
 
 " Find a hole, Mont joy, and go to sleep in it, that's 
 my advice. Were you much cut up? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Dan, uneasily. " I'm 
 trying to make sure that we were not. I lost the 
 others somewhere on the road — a horse knocked 
 me down." 
 
 " Well, if this is to be the last battle, I shouldn't 
 mind a scratch myself," put in a voice from the 
 darkness, " even if it's nothing more than a bruise 
 from a horse's hoof. By the bye, Mont joy, did you 
 see the way Stuart rode down the Zouaves? I de- 
 clare the slope looked like a field of poppies in full 
 bloom. Your cousin was in that charge, I believe, 
 and he came out whole. I saw him afterwards." 
 
 " Oh, the cavalry gets the best of everything," 
 said Dan, with a sigh, and he was passing on, when 
 Jack Powell, coming out of the darkness, stumbled 
 against him, and broke into a delighted laugh. 
 
 " Why, bless my soul, Beau. I thought you'd run 
 after the fleshpots of Washington ! " His face was 
 flushed with excitement and the soft curls upon his 
 forehead were wet and dark. Around his mouth 
 there was a black stain from bitten cartridges. " By 
 George, it was a jolly day, wasn't it, old man ? " he 
 added warmly. 
 
 " Where are the others ? " asked Dan, grasping 
 his arm in an almost frantic pressure. 
 
 " The others ? they're all right — all except poor 
 Welch, who got a ball in his thigh, you know. 
 Did you see him when he was taken off the field? 
 He laughed as he passed me and shouted back that 
 he ' was always willing to spare a leg or two to the 
 cause ! ' " 
 
320 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " Where are you off to ? " inquired Dan, still 
 grasping his arm. 
 
 " I ? oh, I'm on the scent of water. I haven't 
 learned to sleep dirty yet, which Bland says is a 
 sign I'm no soldier. By the way, your darky, Big 
 Abel, has a coffee-boiler over yonder in the fence 
 corner. He's been tearing his wool out over your 
 absence; you'd better ease his mind." With a 
 laugh and a wave of his hand, he plunged into 
 the darkness, and Dan made his way slowly to 
 the campfire, which twinkled from the old rail fence. 
 As he groped toward it curses sprang up like mus- 
 tard from the earth beneath. " Get off my leg, and 
 be damned," growled a voice under his feet. " Oh, 
 this here ain't no pesky jedgment day," exclaimed 
 another just ahead. Without answering he stepped 
 over the dark bodies, and, ten minutes later, came 
 upon Big Abel waiting patiently beside the dying 
 fire. 
 
 At sight of him the negro leaped, with a shout, to 
 his feet ; then, recovering himself, hid his joy be- 
 neath an accusing mask. 
 
 " Dis yer coffee hit's done 'mos' bile away," he 
 remarked gloomily. " En ef'n it don' tase like hit 
 oughter tase, 'tain' no use ter tu'n up yo' nose, caze 
 'tain' de faul' er de coffee, ner de faul' er me nurr." 
 
 " How are you, old man ? " asked Bland, turning 
 over in the shadow. 
 
 " Who's there ? " responded Dan, as he peered 
 from the light into the obscurity. 
 
 " All the mess except Welch, poor devil. Baker 
 got his hair singed by our rear line, and he says 
 he thinks it's safer to mix with the Yankee* next 
 
After the Battle 321 
 
 time. Somebody behind him shot his cowlick clean 
 off." 
 
 " Cowlick, the mischief ! " retorted Baker, with- 
 eringly. " Why, my scalp is as bald as your hand. 
 The fool shaved me like a barber." 
 
 " It's a pity he didn't aim at your whiskers," was 
 Dan's rejoinder. " The chief thing I've got against 
 this war is that when it's over there won't be a 
 smooth-shaven man in the South." 
 
 " Oh, we'll stand them up before our rear line," 
 suggested Baker, moodily. " You may laugh, 
 Bland, but you wouldn't like it yourself, and if they 
 keep up their precious marksmanship your turn will 
 come yet. We'll be a regiment of baldheads before 
 Christmas." 
 
 Dan sat down upon the blanket Big Abel had 
 spread and leaned heavily upon his knapsack, which 
 the negro had picked up on the roadside. A ner- 
 vous chill had come over him and he was shaking 
 with icy starts from head to foot. Big Abel brought 
 a cup of coffee, and as he took it from him, his hand 
 quivered so that he set the cup upon the ground; 
 then he lifted it and drank the hot coffee in long 
 draughts. 
 
 " I should have lost my very identity but for you, 
 Big Abel," he observed gratefully, as he glanced 
 round at the property the negro had protected. 
 
 Big Abel leaned forward and stirred the ashes 
 with a small stick. 
 
 " En I done fit fer 'em, sun," he replied. " I des 
 tell you all de fittin' ain' been over yonder on dat ar 
 hill caze I'se done fit right yer in dis yer fence 
 conder, en I ain' fit de Yankees nurr. Lawd, Lawd, 
 
322 The Battle-Ground 
 
 dese yer folks es is been a-sniffin' roun' my pile all 
 day, ain' de kinder folks Fse used ter, caze my folks 
 dey don' steal w'at don' b'long ter 'em, en dese yer 
 folks dey do. Ole Marster steal ? Huh ! he 'ouldn't 
 even tech a chicken dat 'uz roos'in in his own yard. 
 But dese yer sodgers ! — Why, you cyarn tu'n yo' 
 eye a splinter off de vittles fo' dey's done got 'em. 
 Dey poke dey han's right spang in de fire en eat de 
 ashes en all." 
 
 He went off grumbling to lie down at a little dis- 
 tance, and Dan sat thoughtfully looking into the 
 smouldering fire. Bland and Baker, having heat- 
 edly discussed the details of the victory, had at last 
 drifted into silence ; only Pinetop was awake — this 
 he learned from the odour of the corncob pipe which 
 floated from a sheltered corner. 
 
 " Come over, Pinetop," called Dan, cordially. 
 " and let's make ready for the pursuit to-morrow. 
 Why, to-morrow we may eat a civilized dinner in 
 Washington — think of that ! " 
 
 He spoke excitedly, for he was still quivering 
 from the tumult of his thoughts. There was no 
 sleep possible for him just now ; his limbs twitched 
 restlessly, and he felt the prick of strong emotion in 
 his blood. 
 
 " I say, Pinetop, what do you think of the fight ? " 
 he asked with an embarrassed boyish eagerness. In 
 the faint light of the fire his eyes burned like coals 
 and there was a thick black stain around his mouth. 
 The hand in which he had held his ramrod was of a 
 dark rust colour, as if the stain of the battle had 
 seared into the skin. A smell of hot powder still 
 hung about his clothes. 
 
After the Battle 322 
 
 The mountaineer left the shadow of the fence 
 corner and slowly dragged himself into the little 
 glow, where he sat puffing at his corncob pipe. He 
 gave an easy, sociable nod and stared silently at the 
 embers. 
 
 " Was it just what you imagined it would be?" 
 went on Dan, curiously. 
 
 Pinetop took his pipe from his mouth and nodded 
 again. " Wall, 'twas and 'twan't," he answered 
 pleasantly. 
 
 " I must say it made me sick," admitted Dan, 
 leaning his head in his hand. " I've always been a 
 fool about the smell of blood; and it made me 
 downright sick." 
 
 " Wall, I ain't got much of a stomach for a fight 
 myself," returned Pinetop, reflectively. " You see 
 I ain't never fought anythin' bigger'n a skunk until 
 to-day ; and when I stood out thar with them bullets 
 sizzlin' like fryin' pans round my head, I kind of 
 says t > myself : ' Look here, what's all this fuss 
 about anyhow? If these here folks have come arter 
 the niggers, let 'em take 'em off and welcome.' I 
 ain't never owned a nigger in my life, and, what's 
 more, I ain't never seen one that's worth owning. 
 ' Let 'em take 'em and welcome,' that's what I said. 
 Bless your life, as I stood out thar I didn't see how 
 I was goin' to fire my musket, till all of a jiffy a 
 thought jest jumped into my head and sent me 
 bangin' down that hill. ' Them folks have set thar 
 feet on ole Virginny,' was what I thought. ' They've 
 set thar feet on ole Virginny, and they've got to 
 take 'em off damn quick ! ' " 
 
 His teeth closed over his pipe as if it were a car- 
 
324 The Battle-Ground 
 
 tridge; then, after a silent moment, he opened his 
 mouth and spoke again. 
 
 " What I can't make out for the life of me," he 
 said, " is how those boys from the other states gave 
 thar licks so sharp. If I'd been born across the line 
 in Tennessee, I wouldn't have fired my musket off 
 to-day. They wan't a-settin' thar feet on Tennessee. 
 But ole Virginny — wall, I've got a powerful fancy 
 for ole Virginny, and they ain't goin' to project 
 with her dust, if I can stand between." He turned 
 away, and, emptying his pipe, rolled over upon the 
 ground. 
 
 Dan lay down upon the blanket, and, with his 
 hand upon his knapsack, gazed at the small red em- 
 ber burning amid the ashes. When the last spark 
 faded into blackness it was as if his thoughts went 
 groping for a light. Sleep came fitfully in flights 
 and pauses, in broken dreams and brief awakenings. 
 Losing himself at last it was only to return to the 
 woods at Chericoke and to see Betty coming to him 
 among the dim blue bodies of the trees. He saw the 
 faint sunshine falling upon her head and the stir of 
 the young leaves above her as a light wind passed. 
 Under her feet the grass was studded with violets, 
 and the bonnet swinging from her arm was filled 
 with purple blossoms. She came on steadily over 
 the path of grass and violets, but when he reached 
 out to touch her a great shame fell over him for 
 there was blood upon his hand. 
 
 There was something cold in his face, and he 
 emerged slowly from his sleep into the conscious- 
 ness of dawn and a heavy rain. The swollen clouds 
 hung close above the hills, and the distance was ob- 
 
After the Battle 325 
 
 scured by the gray sheets of water which fell like a 
 curtain from heaven to earth. Near by a wagon had 
 drawn up in the night, and he saw that a group 0$ 
 half-drenched privates had already taken shelter 
 between the wheels. Gathering up his oilcloth, he 
 hastily formed a tent with the aid of a deep fence 
 corner, and, when he had drawn his blanket across 
 the opening, sat partly protected from the shower. 
 As the damp air blew into his face, he became 
 quickly and clearly awake, and it was with the glim- 
 mer of a smile that he looked over the wet meadow 
 and the sleeping regiments. Then a shudder fol- 
 lowed, for he saw in the lines of gray men stretched 
 beneath the rain some likeness to that other field be- 
 yond the hill where the dead were still lying, row on 
 row. He saw them stark and cold on the scorched 
 grass beside the guns, or in the thin ridges of 
 trampled corn, where the gay young tassels were 
 now storm-beaten upon the ripped-up earth. He saw 
 them as he had seen them the evening before — not 
 in the glow of battle, but with the acuteness of a 
 brooding sympathy — saw them frowning, smiling, 
 and with features which death had twisted into a 
 ghastly grin. They were all there — each man with 
 open eyes and stiff hands grasping the clothes above 
 his wound. 
 
 But to Dan, sitting in the gray dawn in the fence 
 corner, the first horror faded quickly into an emo- 
 tion almost triumphant. The great field was silent, 
 reproachful, filled with accusing eyes — but was it 
 not filled with glory, too? He was young, and his 
 weakened pulses quickened at the thought. Since 
 men must die, where was a brighter death than to 
 
326 The Battle-Ground 
 
 fall beneath the flutter of the colours, with the 
 thunder of the cannon in one's ears ? He knew now 
 why his fathers had loved a fight, had loved the 
 glitter of the bayonets and the savage smell of the 
 discoloured earth. 
 
 For a moment the old racial spirit flashed above 
 the peculiar sensitiveness which had come to him 
 from his childhood and his suffering mother; then 
 the flame went out and the rows of dead men stared 
 at him through the falling rain in the deserted field. 
 
THE WOMAN S PART 
 
 At sunrise on the morning of the battle Betty 
 and Virginia, from the whitewashed porch of a 
 little railway inn near Manassas, watched the Gover- 
 nor's regiment as it marched down the single street 
 and into the red clay road. Through the first faint 
 sunshine, growing deeper as the sun rose gloriously 
 above the hills, there sounded a peculiar freshness 
 in the martial music as it triumphantly floated back 
 across the fields. To Betty it almost seemed that 
 the drums were laughing as they went to battle; 
 and when the gay air at last faded in the distance, 
 the silence closed about her with a strangeness she 
 had never felt before — as if the absence of sound 
 was grown melancholy, like the absence of light. 
 
 She shut her eyes and brought back the long 
 gray line passing across the sunbeams : the tanned 
 eager faces, the waving flags, the rapid, almost im- 
 patient tread of the men as they swung onward. A 
 laugh had run along the column as it went by her 
 and she had smiled in quick sympathy with some 
 foolish jest. It was all so natural to her, the gayety 
 and the ardour and the invincible dash of the young 
 army — it was all so like the spirit of Dan and so 
 iiear to her because of the likeness. 
 
 3*7 
 
328 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Somewhere — not far away, she knew — he 
 also was stepping briskly across the first sun rays, 
 and her heart followed him even while she smiled 
 down upon the regiment before her. It was as if 
 her soul were suddenly freed from her bodily 
 presence, and in a kind of dual consciousness she 
 seemed to be standing upon the little whitewashed 
 porch and walking onward beside Dan at the same 
 moment. The wonder of it glowed in her rapt face, 
 and Virginia, turning to put some trivial question, 
 was startled by the passion of her look. 
 
 " Have — have you seen — some one, Betty ? " 
 she whispered. 
 
 The charm was snapped and Betty fell back into 
 time and place. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have seen — some one," her voice 
 thrilled as she spoke. " I saw him as clearly as I 
 see you ; he was all in sunshine and there was a 
 flag close above his head. He looked up and smiled 
 at me. Yes, I saw him ! I saw him ! " 
 
 " It was Dan," said Virginia — not as a question, 
 but in a wondering assent. " Why, Betty, I thought 
 you had forgotten Dan — papa thought so, too." 
 
 " Forgotten ! " exclaimed Betty scornfully. She 
 fell away from the crowd and Virginia followed her. 
 The two stood leaning against the whitewashed 
 wall in the dust that still rose from the street. 
 * So you thought I had forgotten him," said Betty 
 again. She raised her hand to her bosom and 
 crushed the lace upon her dress. " Well, you were 
 wrong," she added quietly. 
 
 Virginia looked at her and smiled. ' I am almost 
 glad," she answered in her sweet girlish yoke. "I 
 
The Woman's Part 329 
 
 don't like to have Dan forgotten even if — if he 
 ought to be." 
 
 " I didn't love him because he ought to be 
 loved," said Betty. " I loved him because I couldn't 
 help it — because he was himself and I was my- 
 self, I suppose. I was born to love him, and to 
 stop loving him I should have to be born again. I 
 don't care what he does — I don't care what he is 
 even — I would rather love him than — than be 
 a queen." She held her hands tightly together. " I 
 would be his servant if he would let me," she went 
 on. " I would work for him like a slave — but he 
 won't let me. And yet he does love me just the 
 same — just the same." 
 
 " He does — he does," admitted Virginia softly. 
 She had never seen Betty like this before, and she 
 felt that her sister had become suddenly very strange 
 and very sacred. Her hands were outstretched to 
 comfort, but Betty turned gently away from her and 
 went up the narrow staircase to the bare little room 
 where the girls slept together. 
 
 Alone within the four white walls she moved 
 breathlessly to and fro like a woodland creature that 
 has been entrapped. At the moment she was telling 
 herself that she wanted to keep onward with the 
 army; then her courage would have fluttered up- 
 ward like the flags. It was not the sound of the 
 cannon that she dreaded, nor the sight of blood — 
 these would have nerved her as they nerved the gen- 
 erations at her back — but the folded hands and the 
 terrible patience that are the woman's share of a 
 war. The old fighting blood was in her veins — she 
 was as much the child of her father as a son could 
 
330 The Battle-Ground 
 
 have been — and yet while the great world over 
 there was filled with noise she was told to go into 
 her room and pray. Pray! Why, a man might 
 pray with his musket in his hand, that was worth 
 while. 
 
 In the adjoining room she saw her mother sitting 
 in a square of sunlight with her open Bible on her 
 knees. 
 
 " Oh, speak, mamma ! " she called half angrily. 
 " Move, do anything but sit so still. I can't bear it ! " 
 She caught her breath sharply, for with her words 
 a low sound like distant thunder filled the room and 
 the little street outside. As she clung with both 
 hands to the window it seemed to her that a gray 
 haze had fallen over the sunny valley. " Some one 
 is dead," she said almost calmly, " that killed how 
 many ? " 
 
 The room stifled her and she ran hurriedly down 
 into the street, where a few startled women and 
 old men had rushed at the first roll of the cannon. 
 As she stood among them, straining her eyes from 
 end to end of the little village, her heart beat in 
 her throat and she could only quaver out an appeal 
 for news. 
 
 " Where is it ? Doesn't any one know anything ? 
 What does it mean ? " 
 
 " It means a battle, Miss, that's one thing," re- 
 marked on obliging by-stander who leaned heavily 
 upon a wooden leg. " Bless you, I kin a'most taste 
 the powder." He smacked his lips and spat into the 
 dust. " To think that I went all the way down to 
 Mexico fur a fight," he pursued regretfully, " when 
 V could have set right here at home and had it all 
 
The Woman's Part 331 
 
 in old Virginny. Well, well, that comes of hurryin' 
 the Lord afo' he's ready." 
 
 He rambled on excitedly, but Betty, frowning 
 with impatience, turned from him and walked 
 rapidly up and down the single street, where the 
 voices of the guns growled through the muffling 
 distance. "That killed how many? how many?" 
 she would say at each long roll, and again, " How 
 many died that moment, and was one Dan ? " 
 
 Up and down the little village, through the 
 heavy sunshine and the white dust, among the 
 whimpering women and old men, she walked until 
 the day wore on and the shadows grew longer 
 across the street. Once a man had come with the 
 news of a sharp repulse, and in the early afternoon 
 a deserter straggled in with the cry that the enemy 
 was marching upon the village. It was not until 
 the night had fallen, when the wounded began to 
 arrive on baggage trains, that the story of the day 
 was told, and a single shout went up from the wait- 
 ing groups. The Confederacy was established! 
 Washington was theirs by right of arms, and to- 
 morrow the young army would dictate terms of 
 peace to a great nation ! The flags waved, women 
 wept, and the wounded soldiers, as they rolled in on 
 baggage cars, were hailed as the deliverers of a 
 people. The new Confederacy! An emotion half 
 romantic, half maternal filled Betty as she bent above 
 an open wound — for it was in her blood to do bat- 
 tle to the death for a belief, to throw herself into a 
 cause as into the arms of a lover. She was made of 
 the stuff of soldiers, and come what might she 
 would always take her stand upon her people's side. 
 
33* The Battle-Ground 
 
 There were cheers and sobs in the little street 
 about her; in the distance a man was shouting- for 
 the flag, and nearer by a woman with a lantern 
 in her hand was searching among the living for her 
 dead. The joy and the anguish of it entered into the 
 girl like wine. She felt her pulses leap and a vigour 
 that was not her own nerved her from head to 
 foot. With that power of ardent sacrifice which 
 lies beneath all shams in the Southern heart, 
 she told herself that no endurance was too 
 great, no hope too large with which to serve 
 the cause. 
 
 The exaltation was still with her when, a little 
 later, she went up to her room and knelt down to 
 thank God. Her people's simple faith was hers 
 also, and as she prayed with her brow on her clasped 
 hands it was as if she gave thanks to some great 
 warrior who had drawn his sword in defence of 
 the land she loved. God was on her side, supreme, 
 beneficent, watchful in little things, as He has been 
 on the side of all fervent hearts since the beginning 
 of time. 
 
 But after her return to Uplands in midsummer 
 she suffered a peculiar restlessness from the tran- 
 quil August weather. The long white road irri- 
 tated her with its aspect of listless patience, and at 
 times she wanted to push back the crowding hills 
 and leave the horizon open to her view. When a 
 squadron of cavalry swept along the turnpike her 
 heart would follow it like a bird while she leaned, 
 with straining eyes, against a great white column. 
 Then, as the last rider was blotted out into the land- 
 scape, she would clasp her hands and walk rapidly 
 
The Woman's Part 233 
 
 up and down between the lilacs. It was all waiting 
 — waiting — waiting — nothing else. 
 
 " Something must happen, mamma, or I shall go 
 mad," she said one day, breaking in upon Mrs. Am- 
 bler as she sorted a heap of old letters in the library. 
 
 "But what? What?" asked Virginia from the 
 shadow of the window seat. " Surely you don't 
 want a battle, Betty ? " 
 
 Mrs. Ambler shuddered. 
 
 " Don't tempt Providence, dear," she said seri- 
 ously, untying a faded ribbon about a piece of old 
 parchment. " Be grateful for just this calm and 
 go out for a walk. You might take this pitcher 
 of flaxseed tea to Floretta's cabin, if you've noth- 
 ing else to do. Ask how the baby is to-day, and 
 tell her to keep the red flannel warm on its chest." 
 
 Betty went into the hall after her bonnet and 
 came back for the pitcher. " I'm going to walk 
 across the fields to Chericoke," she said, " and 
 Hosea is to bring the carriage for me about sunset. 
 We must have some white silk to make those flags 
 out of, and there isn't a bit in the house." 
 
 She went out, stepping slowly in her wide skirts 
 and holding the pitcher carefully before her. 
 
 Floretta's baby was sleeping, and after a few 
 pleasant words the girl kept on to Chericoke. 
 There she found that the Major had gone to town 
 for news, leaving Mrs. Lightfoot to her pickle 
 making in the big storeroom, where the earthen- 
 ware jars stood in clean brown rows upon the 
 shelves. The air was sharp with the smell of vine- 
 gar and spices, and fragrant moisture dripped from 
 the old lady's delicate hands. At the moment she 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 15 
 
334 The Battle- Ground 
 
 had forgotten the war just beyond her doors, and 
 even the vacant places in her household; her ner- 
 vous flutter was caused by finding the plucked corn 
 too large to salt. 
 
 " Come in, child, come in," she said, as Betty 
 appeared in the doorway. " You're too good a 
 housekeeper to mind the smell of brine." 
 
 " How the soldiers will enjoy it," laughed Betty 
 in reply. " It's fortunate that both sides are fond 
 of spices." 
 
 The old lady was tying a linen cloth over the 
 mouth of a great brown jar, and she did not look 
 up as she answered. " I'm not consulting their 
 tastes, my dear, though, as for that, I'm willing 
 enough to feast our own men so long as the 
 Yankees keep away. This jar, by the bye, is filled 
 with ' Confederate pickle ' — it was as little as I 
 could do to compliment the Government, I thought, 
 and the green tomato catchup I've named in honour 
 of General Beauregard." 
 
 Betty smiled; and then, while Mrs. Lightfoot 
 stood sharply regarding Car'line, who was shuck- 
 ing a tray of young corn, she timidly began upon 
 her mission. ." The flags must be finished, and I 
 can't find the silk," she pleaded. " Isn't there a 
 scrap in the house I may have? Let me look about 
 the attic." 
 
 The old lady shook her head. " I haven't allowed 
 anybody to set foot in my attic for forty years," she 
 replied decisively. " Why, I'd almost as soon 
 they'd step into my grandfather's vault." Then 
 as Betty's face fell she added generously. " As for 
 white silk, I haven't any except my wedding dress, 
 
The Woman's Part 23 S 
 
 and that's yellow with age ; but you may take it if 
 you want it. I'm sure it couldn't come to a better 
 end; at least it will have been to the front upon 
 two important occasions." 
 
 " Your wedding dress ! " exclaimed Betty in sur- 
 prise, " oh, how could you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot smiled grimly. 
 
 " I could give more than a wedding dress if the 
 Confederacy called for it, my dear," she answered. 
 " Indeed, I'm not perfectly sure that I couldn't 
 give the Major himself — but go upstairs and wait 
 for me while I send Car'line for the keys." 
 
 She returned to the storeroom, and Betty went 
 upstairs to wander leisurely through the cool 
 faintly lighted chambers. They were all newly 
 swept and scented with lavender, and the high tes- 
 ter beds, with their slender fluted posts, looked 
 as if they had stood spotless and untouched for 
 generations. In Dan's room, which had been his 
 mother's also, the girl walked slowly up and down, 
 meeting, as she passed, her own eyes in the dark- 
 ened mirror. Her mind fretted with the thought 
 that Dan's image had risen so often in the glass, 
 and yet had left no hint for her as she looked in 
 now. If it had only caught and held his reflection, 
 that blank mirror, she could have found it, she felt 
 sure, though a dozen faces had passed by since. 
 Was there nothing left of him, she wondered, noth- 
 ing in the place where he had lived his life? She 
 turned to the bed and picked up, one by one, the 
 scattered books upon the little table. Among them 
 there was a copy of the " Morte d' Arthur," and as 
 it fell open in her hand, she found a bit of her own 
 
336 The Battle-Ground 
 
 blue ribbon between the faded leaves. A tremor 
 ran through her limbs, and going to the window 
 she placed the book upon the sill and read the words 
 aloud in the fragrant stillness. Behind her in the 
 dim room Dan seemed to rise as suddenly as a 
 ghost — and that high-flown chivalry of his, which 
 delighted in sounding phrases as in heroic virtues, 
 was loosened from the leaves of the old romance. 
 
 " For there was never worshipful man nor wor- 
 shipful woman but they loved one better than an- 
 other, and worship in arms may never be foiled ; 
 but first reserve the honour to God, and secondly 
 the quarrel must come of thy lady; and such love 
 I call virtuous love." 
 
 She leaned her cheek upon the book and looked 
 out dreamily into the green box mazes of the gar- 
 den. In the midst of war a great peace had come 
 to her, and the quiet summer weather no longer 
 troubled her with its unbroken calm. Her heart 
 had grown suddenly strong again ; even the long 
 waiting had become but a fit service for her love. 
 
 There was a step in the hall and Mrs. Lightfoot 
 rustled in with her wedding dress. 
 
 " You may take it and welcome, child," she said, 
 as she gave it into Betty's arms. " I can't help feel- 
 ing that there was something providential in my 
 selecting white when my taste always leaned toward 
 a peach-blow brocade. Well, well, who would have 
 believed that I was buying a flag as well as a frock ? 
 If I'd even hinted such a thing, they would have 
 said I had the vapours." 
 
 Betty accepted the gift with her pretty effusion 
 of manner, and went downstairs to where Hosea was 
 
The Woman's Part 337 
 
 waiting for her with the big carriage. As she drove 
 home in a happy revery, her eyes dwelt contentedly 
 on the sunburnt August fields, and the thought of 
 war did not enter in to disturb her dreams. 
 
 Once a line of Confederate cavalrymen rode by at 
 a gallop and saluted her as her face showed at the 
 window. They were strangers to her, but with the 
 peculiar feeling of kinship which united the people 
 of the South, she leaned out to wish them " God 
 speed " as she waved her handkerchief. 
 
 When, a little later, she turned into the drive at 
 Uplands, it was to find, from the prints upon the 
 gravel, that the soldiers had been there before her. 
 Beyond the Doric columns she caught a glimpse of 
 a gray sleeve, and for a single instant a wild hope 
 shot up within her heart. Then as the carriage 
 stopped, and she sprang quickly to the ground, the 
 man in gray came out upon the portico, and she 
 saw that it was Jack Morson. 
 
 " I've come for Virginia, Betty," he began im- 
 pulsively, as he took her hand, " and she promises 
 to marry me before the battle." 
 
 Betty laughed with trembling lips. " And here is 
 the dress," she said gayly, holding out the yellowed 
 silk. 
 
VT 
 
 ON THE ROAD TO ROMNEY 
 
 After a peaceful Christmas, New Year's Day 
 rose bright and mild, and Dan as he started from 
 Winchester with the column felt that he was escap- 
 ing to freedom from the tedious duties of camp 
 life. 
 
 " Thank God we're on the war-path again," he 
 remarked to Pinetop, who was stalking at his side. 
 The two had become close friends during the dull 
 weeks after their first battle, and Bland, who had 
 brought a taste for the classics from the lecture- 
 room, had already referred to them in pointless jokes 
 as " Pylades and Orestes." 
 
 " It looks mighty like summer," responded Pine- 
 top cheerfully. He threw a keen glance up into the 
 blue clouds, and then sniffed suspiciously at the 
 dust that rose high in the road. " But I ain't one to 
 put much faith in looks," he added with his usual 
 caution, as he shifted the knapsack upon his shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 Dan laughed easily. " Well, I'm heartily glad I 
 left my overcoat behind me," he said, breathing 
 hard as he climbed the mountain road, where the 
 red clay had stiffened into channels. 
 
 The sunshine fell brightly over them, lying in 
 golden drops upon the fallen leaves. To Dan the 
 
 3*8 
 
On the Road to Romney 339 
 
 march brought back the early winter rides at Cheri- 
 coke, and the chain of lights and shadows that ran 
 on clear days over the tavern road. Joyously throw- 
 ing back his head, he whistled a love song as he 
 tramped up the mountain side. The irksome sum- 
 mer, with its slow fevers and its sharp attacks of 
 measles, its scarcity of pure water and supplies of 
 half -cooked food, was suddenly blotted from his 
 thoughts, and his first romantic ardour returned 
 to him in long draughts of wind and sun. After 
 each depression his elastic temperament had sprung 
 upward ; the past months had but strengthened him 
 in body as in mind. 
 
 In the afternoon a gray cloud came up suddenly 
 and the sunshine, after a feeble struggle, was driven 
 from the mountains. As the wind blew in short 
 gusts down the steep road, Dan tightened his coat 
 and looked at Pinetop's knapsack with his unfailing 
 laugh. 
 
 " That's beginning to look comfortable. I hope 
 to heaven the wagons aren't far off." 
 
 Pinetop turned and glanced back into the valley. 
 " I'll be blessed if I believe they're anywhere," was 
 his answer. 
 
 " Well, if they aren't, I'll be somewhere before 
 morning; why, it feels like snow." 
 
 A gust of wind, sharp as a blade, struck from the 
 gray sky, and whirlpools of dead leaves were swept 
 into the forest. Falling silent, Dan swung his arms 
 to quicken the current of his blood, and walked 
 on more rapidly. Over the long column gloom 
 had. settled with the clouds, and they were brave 
 lips that offered a jest in the teeth of the wind. 
 
34° The Battle-Ground 
 
 There were no blankets, few overcoats, and fewef 
 rations, and the supply wagons were crawling some- 
 where in the valley. 
 
 The day wore on, and still the rough country 
 road climbed upward embedded in withered leaves. 
 On the high wind came the first flakes of a snow- 
 storm, followed by a fine rain that enveloped the 
 hills like mist. As Dan stumbled on, his feet slipped 
 on the wet clay, and he was forced to catch at 
 the bared saplings for support. The cold had en- 
 tered his lungs as a knife, and his breath circled 
 in a little cloud about his mouth. Through the 
 storm he heard the quick oaths of his companions 
 ring out like distant shots. 
 
 When night fell they halted to bivouac by the 
 roadside, and until daybreak the pine woods were 
 filled with the cheerful glow of the campfires. 
 There were no rations, and Dan, making a jest 
 of his hunger, had stretched himself in the full light 
 of the crackling branches. With the defiant humour 
 which had made him the favourite of the mess, he 
 laughed at the frozen roads, at the change in the 
 wind, at his own struggles with the wet kindling 
 wood, at the supply wagons creeping slowly after 
 them. His courage had all the gayety of his pas- 
 sions — it showed itself in a smile, in a whistle, in 
 the steady hand with which he played toss and 
 catch with fate. The superb silence of Pinetop, 
 plodding evenly along, was as far removed from 
 him as the lofty grandeur of the mountains. A 
 jest warmed his heart against the cold; with set 
 lips and grave eyes, he would have fallen before the 
 next ridge was crossed. 
 
On the Road to Romney 341 
 
 Through the woods other fires were burning, and 
 long reddish shadows crept among the pine trees 
 over the rotting mould. For warmth Dan had 
 spread a covering of dried leaves over him, raking 
 them from sheltered corners of the forest. When 
 he rose from time to time during the night to take 
 his turn at replenishing the fire the leaves drifted 
 in gravelike mounds about his feet. 
 
 For three days the march was steadily upward 
 over long ridges coated deep with ice. In the 
 face of the strong wind, which blew always down 
 the steep road, the army passed on, complaining, 
 cursing, asking a gigantic question of its General. 
 Among the raw soldiers there had been desertions 
 by the dozen, filling the streets of the little town 
 with frost-bitten malcontents. " It was all a wild 
 goose chase," they declared bitterly, " and if Old 
 Jack wasn't a March hare — well, he was some- 
 thing madder ! " 
 
 Dan listened to the curses with his ready smile, 
 and walked on bravely. Since the first evening 
 he had uttered no complaint, asked no question. 
 He had undertaken to march, and he meant to 
 march, that was all. In the front with which he 
 veiled his suffering there was no lessening of his 
 old careless confidence — if his dash had hardened 
 into endurance it wore still an expression that was 
 almost debonair. 
 
 So as the column straggled weakly upward, he 
 wrung his stiffened fingers and joked with Jack 
 Powell, who stumbled after him. The cold had 
 brought a glow to his tanned face, and when he 
 lifted his eyes from the road Pinetop saw that they 
 
342 The Battle -Ground 
 
 were shining brightly. Once he slipped on the! 
 frozen mud, and as his musket dropped from his 
 hand, it went off sharply, the load entering the 
 ground. 
 
 " Are you hurt ? " asked Jack, springing toward 
 him ; but Dan looked round laughing as he clasped 
 his knee. 
 
 " Oh, I merely groaned because I might have 
 been," he said lightly, and limped on, singing a bit 
 of doggerel which had taken possession of his regi- 
 ment. 
 
 " Then let the Yanks say what they will. 
 We'll be gay and happy still; 
 Gay and happy, gay and happy, 
 We'll be gay and happy still." 
 
 On the third day out they reached a little village 
 in the mountains, but before the week's end they 
 had pushed on again, and the white roads still 
 stretched before them. As they went higher the 
 tracks grew steeper, and now and then a musket 
 shot rang out on the roadside as a man lost his 
 footing and went down upon the ice. Behind them 
 the wagon train crept inch by inch, or waited 
 patiently for hours while a wheel was hoisted from 
 the ditch beside the road. There was blood on the 
 muzzles of the horses and on the shining ice that 
 stretched beyond them. 
 
 To Dan these terrible days were as the anguish 
 of a new birth, in which the thing to be born" suf- 
 fered the conscious throes of awakening life. He 
 could never be the same again ; something was al- 
 tered in him forever; this he felt dimly as he 
 dragged his aching body onward. Days like these 
 
On the Road to Romney 343 
 
 would prove the stuff that had gone into the making 
 of him. When the march to Romney lay behind 
 him he should know himself to be either a soldier or 
 a coward. A soldier or a coward ! he said the words 
 over again as he struggled to keep down the pangs 
 of hunger, telling himself that the road led not 
 merely to Romney, but to a greater victory than his 
 General dreamed of. Romney might be worthless, 
 after all, the grim march but a mad prank of Jack- 
 son's, as men said; but whether to lay down one's 
 arms or to struggle till the end was reached, this 
 was the question asked by those stern mountains. 
 Nature stood ranged against him — he fought it 
 step by step, and day by day. 
 
 At times something like delirium seized him, 
 and he went on blindly, stepping high above the 
 ice. For hours he was tortured by the longing for 
 raw beef, for the fresh blood that would put heat 
 into his veins. The kitchen at Chericoke flamed 
 upon the hillside, as he remembered it on winter 
 evenings when the great chimney was filled with 
 light and the crane was in its place above the hick- 
 ory. The smell of newly baked bread floated in his 
 nostrils, and for a little while he believed himself to 
 be lying again upon the hearth as he thrilled at Aunt 
 Rhody's stories. Then his fancies would take other 
 shapes, and warm colours would glow in red and 
 yellow circles before his eyes. When he thought of 
 Betty now it was no longer tenderly but with a 
 despairing passion. He was haunted less by her 
 visible image than by broken dreams of her peculiar 
 womanly beauties — of her soft hands and the 
 warmth of her girlish bosom. 
 
344 The Battle-Ground 
 
 But from the first day to the last he had no 
 thought of yielding; and each feeble step had sent 
 him a step farther upon the road. He had often 
 fallen, but he had always struggled up again and 
 laughed. Once he made a ghastly joke about his 
 dying in the snow, and Jack Powell turned upon him 
 with an oath and bade him to be silent. 
 
 " For God's sake don't," added the boy weakly, 
 and fell to whimpering like a child. 
 
 " Oh, go home to your mother," retorted Dan, 
 with a kind of desperate cruelty. 
 
 Jack sobbed outright. 
 
 " I wish I could," he answered, and dropped over 
 upon the roadside. 
 
 Dan caught him up, and poured his last spoonful 
 of brandy down his throat, then he »eized his arm 
 and dragged him bodily along. 
 
 " Oh, I say don't be an ass," he implored. " Here 
 comes old Stonewall." 
 
 The commanding General rode by, glanced quietly 
 over them, and passed on, his chest bowed, his cadet 
 cap pulled down over his eyes. A moment later 
 Dan, looking over the hillside, at the winding road, 
 saw him dismount and put his shoulder to a sunken 
 wheel. The sight suddenly nerved the younger 
 man, and he went on quickly, dragging Jack up 
 with him. 
 
 That night they rested in a burned-out clearing 
 where the pine trees had been felled for fence rails. 
 The rails went readily to fires, and Pinetop fried 
 strips of fat bacon in the skillet he had brought 
 upon his musket. Somebody produced a handful 
 of coffee from his pocket, and a little later Dan, 
 
On the Road to Romney 345 
 
 dozing beside the flames, was awakened by the 
 aroma. 
 
 " By George ! " he burst out, and sat up speech- 
 less. 
 
 Pinetop was mixing thin cornmeal paste into 
 the gravy, and he looked up as he stirred busily 
 with a small stick. 
 
 " Wall, I reckon these here slapjacks air about 
 done," he remarked in a moment, adding with a 
 glance at Dan, " and if your stomach's near as 
 empty as your eyes, I reckon your turn comes first." 
 
 " I reckon it does," said Dan, and filling his tin 
 cup, he drank scalding coffee in short gulps. 
 When he had finished it, he piled fresh rails upon 
 the fire and lay down to sleep with his feet against 
 the embers. 
 
 With the earliest dawn a long shiver woke 
 him, and as he put out his hand it touched something 
 wet and cold. The fire had died to a red heart, and 
 a thick blanket of snow covered him from head 
 to foot. Straight above there was a pale yel- 
 low light where the stars shone dimly after the 
 storm. 
 
 He started to his feet, rubbing a handful of snow 
 upon his face. The red embers, sheltered by the 
 body of a solitary pine, still glowed under the 
 charred brushwood, and kneeling upon the ground, 
 he fanned them into a feeble blaze. Then he 
 laid the rails crosswise, protecting them with his 
 blanket until they caught and flamed up against the 
 blackened pine. 
 
 Near by Jack Powell was moaning in his sleep, 
 and Dan leaned over to shake him into conscious- 
 
346 The Battle-Ground 
 
 ness. " Oh, damn it all, wake up, you fool ! " he 
 said roughly, but Jack rolled over like one drugged 
 and broke into frightened whimpers such as a 
 child makes in the dark. He was dreaming of 
 home, and as Dan listened to the half -choked 
 words, his face contracted sharply. " Wake up, 
 you fool ! " he repeated angrily, rolling him back 
 and forth before the fire. 
 
 A little later, when Jack had grown warm be- 
 neath his touch, he threw a blanket over him, and 
 turned to lie down in his own place. As he tossed a 
 last armful on the fire, his eyes roamed over the 
 long mounds of snow that filled the clearing, and 
 he caught his breath as a man might who had 
 waked suddenly among the dead. In the begin- 
 ning of dawn, with the glimmer of smouldering 
 fires reddening the snow, there was something al- 
 most ghastly in the sloping field filled with white 
 graves and surrounded by white mountains. Even 
 the wintry sky borrowed, for an hour, the spectral 
 aspect of the earth, and the familiar shapes of cloud, 
 as of hill, stood out with all the majesty of un- 
 covered laws — stripped of the mere frivolous effect 
 of light or shade. It was like the first day — or 
 the last. 
 
 Dan, sitting watchful beside the fire, fell into the 
 peculiar mental state which comes only after an in- 
 ward struggle that has laid bare the sinews of one's 
 life. He had fought the good fight to the end, 
 and he knew that from this day he should go easier 
 with himself because he knew that he had con- 
 quered. 
 
 The old doubt — the old distrust of his own 
 
On the Road to Romney 347 
 
 strength — was fallen from him. At the moment he 
 could have gone to Betty, fearless and full of hope, 
 and have said, " Come, for I am grown up at last 
 — at last I have grown up to my love." A great 
 tenderness was in his heart, and the tears, which 
 had not risen for all the bodily suffering of the past 
 two weeks, came slowly to his eyes. The purpose 
 of life seemed suddenly clear to him, and the large 
 patience of the sky passed into his own nature as 
 he sat facing the white dawn. At rare intervals 
 in the lives of all strenuous souls there comes this 
 sense of kinship with external things — this pas- 
 sionate recognition of the appeal of the dumb 
 world. Sky and mountains and the white sweep of 
 the fields awoke in him the peculiar tenderness he 
 had always felt for animals or plants. His old 
 childish petulance was gone from him forever; in 
 its place he was aware of a kindly tolerance which 
 softened even the common outlines of his daily life. 
 It was as if he had awakened breathlessly to find 
 himself a man. 
 
 And Betty came to him again — not in detached 
 visions, but entire and womanly. When he remem- 
 bered her as on that last night at Chericoke it was 
 with the impulse to fall down and kiss her feet. 
 Reckless and blind with anger as he had been, 
 she would have come cheerfully with him where- 
 ever his road led; and it was this passionate be- 
 trayal of herself that had taught him the full meas- 
 ure of her love. An attempt to trifle, to waver, to 
 bargain with the future, he might have looked back 
 upon with tender scorn ; but the gesture with which 
 she had made her choice was as desperate as his own 
 
348 The Battle-Ground 
 
 mood — and it^was for this one reckless moment 
 that he loved her best. 
 
 The east paled slowly as the day broke in a 
 cloud, and the long shadows beside the fire lost 
 their reddish glimmer. A little bird, dazed by the 
 cold and the strange light, flew into the smoke 
 against the stunted pine, and fell, a wet ball of feath- 
 ers at Dan's feet. He picked it up, warmed it in 
 his coat, and fed it from the loose crumbs in his 
 pocket. 
 
 When Pinetop awoke he was gently stroking the 
 bird while he sang in a low voice : — 
 
 " Gay and happy, gay and happy, 
 We'll be gay and happy stilL" 
 
vn 
 
 " I WAIT MY TIME " 
 
 When he returned to Winchester it was to find 
 Virginia already there as Jack Morson's wife. Since 
 her marriage in late summer she had followed her 
 husband's regiment from place to place, drifting at 
 last to a big yellow house on the edge of the fiery 
 little town. Dan, passing along the street one day, 
 heard his name called in a familiar voice, and turned 
 to find her looking at him through the network of a 
 tall, wrought-iron gate. 
 
 "Virginia! Bless my soul! Where's Betty?" 
 he exclaimed amazed. 
 
 Virginia left the gate and gave him her hand over 
 the dried creepers on the wall. 
 
 " Why, you look ten years older," was her re- 
 sponse. 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, two years of beggary, to say 
 nothing of eight months of war, isn't just the thing 
 to insure immortal youth, is it? You see, I'm turn- 
 ing gray." 
 
 The pallor of the long march was in his face, 
 giving him a striking though unnatural beauty. His 
 eyes were heavy and his hair hung dishevelled about 
 his brow, but the change went deeper still, and the 
 girl saw it. " You're bigger — that's it," she said, 
 and added impulsively, " Oh, how I wish Betty 
 could see you now." 
 
 349 
 
350 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Her hand was upon the wall and he gave it a 
 
 quick, pleased pressure. 
 
 " I wish to heaven she could," he echoed heartily. 
 
 " But I shall tell her everything when I write — ■ 
 everything. I shall tell her that you are taller and 
 stronger and that you have been in all the fights 
 and haven't a scar to show. Betty loves scars, you 
 see, and she doesn't mind even wounds — real 
 wounds. She wanted to go into the hospitals, but I 
 came away and mamma wouldn't let her." 
 
 " For God's sake, don't let her," said Dan, with 
 a shudder, his Southern instincts recoiling from 
 the thought of service for the woman he loved. 
 " There are a plenty of them in the hospitals and it's 
 no place for Betty, anyway." 
 
 " I'll tell her you think so," returned Virginia, 
 gayly. " I'll tell her that — and what else ? " 
 
 He met her eyes smiling. 
 
 " Tell her I wait my time," he answered, and 
 began to talk lightly of other things. Virginia fol- 
 lowed his lead with her old shy merriment. Her 
 marriage had changed her but little, though she had 
 grown a trifle stately, he thought, and her coquetry 
 had dropped from her like a veil. As she stood 
 there in her delicate lace cap and soft gray silk, the 
 likeness to her mother was very marked, and look- 
 ing into the future, Dan seemed to see her beauty 
 ripen and expand with her growing womanhood. 
 How many of her race had there been, he won- 
 dered, shaped after the same pure and formal 
 plan. 
 
 " And it is all just the same," he said, his eyes 
 delighting in her beauty. " There is no change — 
 
"I Wait My Time." 351 
 
 don't tell me there is any change, for I'll not believe 
 it. You bring it all back to me, — the lawn and the 
 lilacs and the white pillars, and Miss Lydia's gar- 
 den, with the rose leaves in the paths. Why are 
 there always rose leaves in Miss Lydia's paths, Vir- 
 ginia ? " 
 
 Virginia shook her head, puzzled by his whimsical 
 tone. 
 
 " Because there are so many roses," she answered 
 seriously. 
 
 " No, you're wrong, there's another reason, but 
 I shan't tell you." 
 
 " My boxes are filled with rose leaves now," said 
 Virginia. " Betty gathered them for me." 
 
 The smile leaped to his eyes. " Oh, but it makes 
 me homesick," he returned lightly. " If I tell you 
 a secret, don't betray me, Virginia — I am down- 
 right homesick for Betty." 
 
 Virginia patted his hand. 
 
 " So am I," she confessed, " and so is Mammy 
 Riah — she's with me now, you know — and she 
 says that I might have been married without Jack, 
 but never without Betty. Betty made my dress and 
 iced my cake and pinned on my veil." 
 
 " Ah, is that so ? " exclaimed Dan, absent-mind- 
 edly. He was thinking of Betty, and he could al- 
 most see her hands as she pinned on the wedding 
 veil — those small white hands with the strong fin- 
 gers that had closed about his own. 
 
 " When you get your furlough you must go home, 
 Dan," Virginia was saying; "the Major is very 
 feeble and — and he quarrels with almost every 
 one." 
 
J5 2 The Battle-Ground 
 
 "My furlough," repeated Dan, witK a laugh. 
 " Why, the war may end to-morrow and then we'll 
 all go home together and kill the fatted calf among 
 us. Yes, I'd like to see the old man again before 
 I die." 
 
 " I pray every night that the war may end to- 
 morrow," said Virginia, " but it never does." Then 
 she turned eagerly to the Governor, who was coming 
 toward them under the leafless trees along the 
 street. 
 
 " Here's Dan, papa, do make him come in and be 
 good." 
 
 The Governor, holding himself erect in his trim 
 gray uniform, insisted, with his hand upon Dan's 
 shoulder, that Virginia should be obeyed; and the 
 younger man, yielding easily, followed him through 
 the iron gate and into the yellow house. 
 
 " I don't see you every day, my boy, sit down, sit 
 down," began the Governor, as he took his stand 
 upon the hearth-rug. " Daughter, haven't you 
 learned the way to the pantry yet? Dan looks as if 
 he'd been on starvation rations since he joined the 
 army. They aren't living high at Romney, eh ? " 
 and then, as Virginia went out, he fell to discussing 
 the questions on all men's lips — the prospect of 
 peace in the near future ; hopes of intervention from 
 England; the attitude of other foreign powers; 
 and the reasons for the latest appointments by the 
 President. When the girl came in again they let 
 such topics go, and talked of home while she poured 
 the coffee and helped Dan to fried chicken. She 
 belonged to the order of women who delight in 
 feeding a hungry man, and her eyes did not leave his 
 
"I Wait My Time." 353 
 
 face as she sat behind the tray and pressed the food 
 upon him. 
 
 " Dan thinks the war will be over before he gets 
 his furlough," she said a little wistfully. 
 
 A shadow crossed the Governor's face. 
 
 " Then I may hope to get back in time to watch 
 the cradles in the wheat field," he remarked. 
 " There's little doing on the farm I'm afraid while 
 I'm away." 
 
 " If they hold out six months longer — well, I'll 
 be surprised," exclaimed Dan, slapping the arm of 
 his chair with a gesture like the Major's. " They've 
 found out we won't give in so long as there's a mus- 
 ket left ; and that's enough for them." 
 
 " Maybe so, maybe so," returned the Governor, 
 for it was a part of his philosophy to cast his conver- 
 sational lines in the pleasant places. " Please God, 
 we'll drink our next Christmas glass at Cheri- 
 coke." 
 
 " In the panelled parlour," added Dan, his eyes 
 lighting. 
 
 " With Aunt Emmeline's portrait," finished Vir- 
 ginia, smiling. 
 
 For a time they were all silent, each looking hap- 
 pily into the far-off room, and each seeing a distinct 
 and different vision. To the Governor the peaceful 
 hearth grew warm again — he saw his wife and 
 children gathered there, and a few friendly neigh- 
 bours with their long-lived, genial jokes upon their 
 lips. To Virginia it was her own bridal over again 
 with the fear of war gone from her, and the 
 quiet happiness she wanted stretching out into the 
 future. To Dan there was first his own honouf 
 
354 The Battle-Ground 
 
 to be won, and then only Betty and himself — 
 Betty and himself under next year's mistletoe to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Well, well," sighed the Governor, and came 
 back regretfully to the present. " It's a good place 
 we're thinking of, and I reckon you're sorry enough 
 you left it before you were obliged to. We all make 
 mistakes, my boy, and the fortunate ones are those 
 who live long enough to unmake them." 
 
 His warm smile shone out suddenly, and without 
 waiting for a reply, he began to ask for news of 
 Jack Powell and his comrades, all of whom he knew 
 by name. " I was talking to Colonel Burwell about 
 you the other day," he added presently, " and he 
 gave you a fighting record that would do honour to 
 the Major/' 
 
 " He's a nice old chap," responded Dan, easily, 
 for in thc> hrst years of the Army of Northern Vir- 
 ginia the question of rank presented itself only upon 
 the parade ground, and beyond the borders of the 
 camp 3 private had been known to condescend to his 
 own Colonel. " A gentleman fights for his country 
 as hc : pleases, a plebeian as he must," the Governor 
 would have explained with a touch of his old ora- 
 tory. " He's a nice old chap himself, but, by George, 
 the discipline fits like a straight-jacket," pursued 
 Dan, as he finished his coffee. " Why, here we are 
 three miles below Winchester in a few threadbare 
 tents, and they make as much fuss about our coming 
 into town as if we were the Yankees themselves. 
 Talk about Romney ! Why, it's no colder at Rom- 
 ney than it was here last week, and yet Loring's 
 men are living in huts like princes." 
 
« I Wait My Time." 355 
 
 " Show me a volunteer and I'll show you a 
 grumbler," put in the Governor, laughing. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not grumbling, I'm merely pointing out 
 the facts," protested Dan; then he rose and stood 
 holding Virginia's hand as he met her upward 
 glance with his unflinching admiration. " Come 
 again ! Why, I should say so," he declared. " I'll 
 come as long as I have a collar left, and then — well, 
 then I'll pass the time of day with you over the 
 hedge. Good-by, Colonel, remember I'm not a 
 grumbler, I'm merely a man of facts." 
 
 The door closed after him and a moment later 
 they heard his clear whistle in the street. 
 
 " The boy is like his father," said the Governor, 
 thoughtfully, " like his father with the devil broken 
 to harness. The Mont joy blood may be bad blood, 
 but it makes big men, daughter." He sighed and 
 drew his small figure to its full height. 
 
 Virginia was looking into the fire. " I hope he 
 will come again," she returned softly, thinking of 
 Betty. 
 
 But when he called again a week later Virginia did 
 not see him. It was a cold starlit night, and the big 
 yellow house, as he drew near it, glowed like a lamp 
 amid the leafless trees. Beside the porch a number 
 of cavalry horses were fastened to the pillars, and 
 through the long windows there came the sound of 
 laughter and of gay " good-bys." 
 
 The " fringe of the asmy," as Dan had once jeer- 
 ingly called it, was merrily making ready for a 
 raid. 
 
 As he listened he leaned nearer the window and 
 watched, half enviously, the men he had once known. 
 
356 The Battle-Ground 
 
 His old life had been a part of theirs and now, 
 looking in from the outside, it seemed very far 
 away — the poetry of war beside which the other 
 was mere dull history in which no names were writ- 
 ten. He thought of Prince Rupert, and of his own 
 joy in the saddle, and the longing for the raid 
 seized him like a heartache. Oh, to feel again the 
 edge of the keen wind in his teeth and to hear the 
 silver ring of the hoofs on the frozen road. 
 
 " Jine the cavalry, 
 Jine the cavalry, 
 If you want to have a good time jine the cavalry." 
 
 The words floated out to him, and he laughed 
 aloud as if he had awakened from a comic dream. 
 
 That was the romance of war, but, after all, he 
 was only the man who bore the musket. 
 
VIII 
 
 THE ALTAR OF THE WAR GOD 
 
 With the opening spring Virginia went .down to 
 Richmond, where Jack Morson had taken rooms for 
 her in the house of an invalid widow whose three 
 sons were at the front. The town was filled to over- 
 flowing with refugees from the North and represen- 
 tatives from the South, and as the girl drove through 
 the crowded streets, she exclaimed wonderingly at 
 the festive air the houses wore. 
 
 " Why, the doors are all open," she observed. 
 " It looks like one big family." 
 
 " That's about what it is," replied Jack. " The 
 whole South is here and there's not a room to be 
 had for love or money. Food is getting dear, too, 
 they say, and the stranger within the gates has the 
 best of everything." He stopped short and laughed 
 from sheer surprise at Virginia's loveliness. 
 
 " Well, I'm glad I'm here, anyway," said the girl, 
 pressing his arm, " and Mammy Riah's glad, too, 
 though she won't confess it. — Aren't you just de- 
 lighted to see Jack again, Mammy ? " 
 
 The old negress grunted in her corner of the car- 
 riage. " I ain' seed no use in all dis yer fittin'," 
 she responded. " Wat's de use er fittin' ef dar ain 1 
 sumpen' ter fit fer dat you ain' got a'ready ? " 
 
 " That's it, Mammy," replied Jack, gayly, " we're 
 
 357 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 16 
 
358 The Battle-Ground 
 
 fighting for freedom, and we haven't had it yet, you 
 see." 
 
 " Is dat ar freedom vittles ? " scornfully retorted 
 the old woman. " Is it close ? is it wood ter bu'n ? " 
 
 " Oh, it will soon be here and you'll find out," said 
 Virginia, cheerfully, and when a little later she set- 
 tled herself in her pleasant rooms, she returned to 
 her assurances. 
 
 " Aren't you glad you're here, Mammy, aren't 
 you glad ? " she insisted, with her arm about the old 
 woman's neck. 
 
 " I'd des like ter git a good look at ole Miss agin," 
 returned Mammy Riah, softening, " caze ef you en 
 ole Miss ain' des like two peas in a pod, my eyes 
 hev done crack wid de sight er you. Dar ain' been 
 nuttin' so pretty es you sence de day I dressed ole 
 Miss in 'er weddin' veil." 
 
 " You're right," exclaimed Jack, heartily. " But 
 look at this, Virginia, here's a regular corn field at 
 the back. Mrs. Minor tells me that vegetables have 
 grown so scarce she has been obliged to turn her 
 flower beds into garden patches." He threw open 
 the window, and they went out upon the wide piazza 
 which hung above the young corn rows. 
 
 During the next few weeks, when Jack was often 
 in the city, an almost feverish gayety possessed the 
 girl. In the war-time parties, where the women 
 wore last year's dresses, and the wit served for re- 
 freshment, her gentle beauty became, for a little 
 while, the fashion. The smooth bands of her hair 
 were copied, the curve of her eyelashes was made 
 the subject of some verses which The Examiner 
 printed and the English papers quoted later on. It 
 
The Altar of the War God 359 
 
 was a bright and stately society that filled the capital 
 that year; and on pleasant Sundays when Virginia 
 walked from church, in her Leghorn bonnet and 
 white ruffles flaring over crinoline as they neared 
 the ground, men, who had bled on fields of honour 
 for the famous beauties of the South, would drop 
 their talk to follow her with warming eyes. Cities 
 might fall and battles might be lost and won, but 
 their joy in a beautiful woman would endure until a 
 great age. 
 
 At last Jack Morson rode away to service, and the 
 girl kept to the quiet house and worked on the little 
 garments which the child would need in the sum- 
 mer. She was much alone, but the delicate widow, 
 who had left her couch to care for the sick and 
 wounded soldiers, would sometimes come and sit 
 near her while she sewed. 
 
 " This is the happiest time — before the child 
 comes," she said one day, and added, with the ob- 
 servant eye of mothers, " it will be a boy ; there is 
 a pink lining to the basket." 
 
 " Yes, it will be a boy," replied Virginia, wist- 
 fully. 
 
 " I have had six," pursued the woman, " six sons, 
 and yet I am alone now. Three are dead, and three 
 are in the army. I am always listening for the sum- 
 mons that means another grave." She clasped her 
 thin hands and smiled the patient smile that chilled 
 Virginia's blood. 
 
 " Couldn't you have kept one back?" asked the 
 girl in a whisper. 
 
 The woman shook her head. Much brooding had 
 darkened her mind, but there was a peculiar fervour 
 
360 The Battle-Ground 
 
 in her face — an inward light that shone through 
 her faded eyes. 
 
 " Not one — not one," she answered. " When the 
 South called, I sent the first two, and when they fell, 
 I sent the others — only the youngest I kept back at 
 first — he is just seventeen. Then another call came 
 and he begged so hard I let him go. No, I gave 
 them all gladly — I have kept none back." 
 
 She lowered her eyes and sat smiling at her 
 folded hands. Weakened in body and broken by 
 many sorrows as she was, with few years before her 
 and those filled with inevitable suffering, the fire of 
 the South still burned in her veins, and she gave 
 herself as ardently as she gave her sons. The pity 
 of it touched Virginia suddenly, and in the midst of 
 her own enthusiasm she felt the tears upon her 
 lashes. Was not an army invincible, she asked, into 
 which the women sent their dearest with a smile? 
 
 Through the warm spring weather she sat beside 
 the long window that gave on the street, or walked 
 slowly up and down among the vegetable rows in 
 the garden. The growing of the crops became an 
 unending interest to her and she watched them, 
 day by day, until she learned to know each separate 
 plant and to look for its unfolding. When the 
 drought came she carried water from the hydrant, 
 and assisted by Mammy Riah sprinkled the young 
 tomatoes until they shot up like weeds. " It is so 
 much better than war," she would say to Jack 
 when he rode through the city. " Why will men 
 kill one another when they might make things live 
 instead ? " 
 
 Beside the piazza there was a high magnolia 
 
The Altar of the War God 361 
 
 tree, and under this she made a little rustic bench 
 and a bed of flowers. When the hollyhocks and the 
 sunflowers bloomed it would look like Uplands, she 
 said, laughing. 
 
 Under the magnolia there was quiet, but from her 
 front window, while she sat at work, she could see 
 the whole overcrowded city passing through sun 
 and shadow. Sometimes distinguished strangers 
 would go by, men from the far South in black 
 broadcloth and slouch hats ; then the President, slim 
 and erect and very grave, riding his favourite horse 
 to one of the encampments near the city; and then 
 a noted beauty from another state, her chin lifted 
 above the ribbons of her bonnet, a smile tucked in 
 the red corners of her lips. Following there would 
 surge by the same eager, staring throng — men too 
 old to fight who had lost their work ; women whose 
 husbands fought in the trenches for the money that 
 would hardly buy a sack of flour ; soldiers from one 
 of the many camps; noisy little boys with tin 
 whistles ; silent little girls waving Confederate flags. 
 Back and forth they passed on the bright May after- 
 noons, filling the street with a ceaseless murmur and 
 the blur of many colours. 
 
 And again the crowd would part suddenly to make 
 way for a battalion marching to the front, or for a 
 single soldier riding, with muffled drums, to his 
 grave in Hollywood. The quick step or the slow 
 gait of the riderless horse; the wild cheers or the 
 silence on the pavement ; the " Bonnie Blue Flag " 
 or the funeral dirge before the coffin; the eager 
 faces of men walking to where death was or the 
 fallen ones of those who came back with the dead; 
 
362 The Battle-Ground 
 
 the bold flags taking the wind like sails or the ban- 
 ners furled with crepe as they drooped forward — 
 there was not a day when these things did not go by 
 near together. To Virginia, sitting at her window, 
 it was as if life and death walked on within each 
 other's shadow. 
 
 Then came the terrible days when the city saw 
 McClellan sweeping toward it from the Chickahom- 
 iny, when senators and clergymen gathered with the 
 slaves to raise the breastworks, and men turned 
 blankly to ask one another " Where is the army ? " 
 With the girl the question meant only mystification ; 
 she felt none of the white terror that showed in the 
 faces round her. There was in her heart an un- 
 questioning, childlike trust in the God of battles — 
 sooner or later he would declare for the Confed- 
 eracy and until then — well, there was always Gen- 
 eral Lee to stand between. Her chief regret was 
 that the lines had closed and her mother could not 
 come to her as she had promised. 
 
 In the intense heat that hung above the town she 
 sat at her southern window, where the river breeze 
 blew across the garden, and watched placidly the 
 palm-leaf fan which Mammy Riah waved before her 
 face. The magnolia tree had flowered in great 
 white blossoms, and the heavy perfume mingled in 
 Virginia's thoughts with the yellow sunshine, the 
 fretful clamour, and the hot dust of the city. When 
 at the end of May a rain storm burst overhead and 
 sent the wide white petals to the earth, it was almost 
 a relief to see them go. But by the morrow new 
 ones had opened, and the perfume she had sickened 
 of still floated from the garden. 
 
The Altar of the War God 363 
 
 That afternoon the sound of the guns rolled up 
 the Williamsburg road, and in the streets men 
 shouted hoarsely of an engagement with the enemy 
 at Seven Pines. With the noise Virginia thrilled to 
 her first feeling of danger, starting from a repose 
 which, in its unconsciousness, had been as profound 
 as sleep. The horror of war rushed in upon her at 
 the moment, and with a cry she leaned out into the 
 street, and listened for the next roll of the cannon. 
 
 A woman, with a scared face, looked up, saw her, 
 and spoke hysterically. 
 
 " There's not a man left in the city," she cried. 
 " They've taken my father to defend the breast- 
 works and he's near seventy. If you can sew or 
 wash or cook, there'll be work enough for you, God 
 knows, to-morrow ! " 
 
 She hurried on and Virginia, turning from the 
 window, buried herself in the pillows upon the bed, 
 trying in vain to shut out the noise of the cannon- 
 ading and the perfume of the magnolia blossoms 
 which came in on the southern breeze. With night 
 the guns grew silent and the streets empty, but still 
 the girl lay sleepless, watching with frightened eyes 
 the shadow of Mammy Riah's palm-leaf fan. 
 
 At dawn the restless murmur began again, and 
 Virginia, looking out in the hot sunrise, saw the 
 crowd hastening back to the hospitals lower down. 
 They were all there, all as they had been the day 
 before — old men limping out for news or return- 
 ing beside the wounded; women with trembling 
 lips and arms filled with linen ; ambulances passing 
 the corner at a walk, surrounded by men who had 
 staggered after them because there was no room 
 
364 The Battle-Ground 
 
 left inside ; and following always the same curious, 
 pallid throng, fresh upon the scent of some new 
 tragedy. Presently the ambulances gave out, and 
 yet the wounded came — some walking, and moan- 
 ing as they walked, some borne on litters by de- 
 voted servants, some drawn in market wagons 
 pressed into use. The great warehouses and the 
 churches were thrown open to give them shelter, 
 but still they came and still the cry went up, " Room, 
 more room ! " 
 
 Virginia watched it all, leaning out to follow the 
 wagons as they passed the corner. The sight sick- 
 ened her, but something that was half a ghastly fas- 
 cination and half the terror of missing a face she 
 knew, kept her hour after hour motionless upon 
 * her knees. At each roll of the guns she gave a ner- 
 vous shiver and grew still as stone. 
 
 Then, as she knelt there, a man, in clerical dress, 
 came down the pavement and stopped before her 
 window. " I hope your husband's wound was not 
 serious, Mrs. Morson," he said sympathetically. 
 " If I can be of any assistance, please don't hesitate 
 to call on me." 
 
 " Jack wounded ! — oh, he is not wounded," re- 
 plied Virginia. She rose and stood wildly looking 
 down upon him. 
 
 He saw his mistake and promptly retracted what 
 he could. 
 
 " If you don't know of it, it can't be true," he 
 urged kindly. " So many rumours are afloat that 
 half of them are without foundation. However, I 
 will make inquiries if you wish/' and he passed on 
 with a promise to return at once. 
 
The Altar of the War God 365 
 
 For a time Virginia stood blankly gazing after 
 him; then she turned steadily and took down her 
 bonnet from the wardrobe. She even went to the 
 bureau and carefully tied the pink ribbon strings 
 beneath her chin. 
 
 " I am going out, Mammy Riah," she said when 
 she had finished. " No, don't tell me I mustn't — I 
 am going out, I say." 
 
 She stamped her foot impatiently, but Mammy 
 Riah made no protest. 
 
 " Des let's go den," she returned, smoothing her 
 head handkerchief as she prepared to follow. 
 
 The sun was already high above, and the breeze, 
 which had blown for three days from the river, had 
 dropped suddenly since dawn. Down the brick 
 pavement the relentless glare flashed back into the 
 sky which hung hot blue overhead. To Virginia, 
 coming from the shade of her rooms, the city 
 seemed a furnace and the steady murmur a great 
 discord in which every note was one of pain. 
 
 Other women looking for their wounded hurried 
 by her — one stopped to ask if she had been into 
 the unused tobacco warehouse and if she had seen 
 there a boy she knew by name ? Another, with lint 
 bandages in her hand, begged her to come into a 
 church hard by and assist in ravelling linen for the 
 surgeons. Then she looked down, saw the girl's 
 figure, and grew nervous. " You are not fit, my 
 dear, go home," she urged, but Virginia shook her 
 head and smiled. 
 
 " I am looking for my husband," she answered in 
 a cold voice and passed on. Mammy Riah caught 
 up with her, but she broke away. " Go home if 
 
366 The Battle-Ground 
 
 you want to — oh, go back," she cried irritably. 
 " I am looking for Jack, you know." 
 
 Into the rude hospitals, one after one, she went 
 without shuddering, passing up and down between 
 the ghastly rows lying half clothed upon the bare 
 plank floors. Her eyes were strained and eager, 
 and more than one dying man turned to look after 
 her as she went by, and carried the memory of her 
 face with him to death. Once she stopped and 
 folded a blanket under the head of a boy who 
 moaned aloud, and then gave him water from a 
 pitcher close at hand. " You're so cool — so cool," 
 he sobbed, clutching at her dress, but she smiled 
 like one asleep and passed on rapidly. 
 
 When the long day had worn out at last, she came 
 from an open store filled with stretchers, and started 
 homeward over the burning pavement. Her search 
 was useless, and the reaction from her terrible fear 
 left her with a sudden tremor in her heart. As she 
 walked she leaned heavily upon Mammy Riah, and 
 her colour came and went in quick flashes. The 
 heat had entered into her brain and with it the 
 memory of open wounds and the red hands of sur- 
 geons. Reaching the house at last, she flung her- 
 self all dressed upon the bed and fell into a sleep 
 that was filled with changing dreams. 
 
 At midnight she cried out in agony, believing her- 
 self to be still in the street. When Mammy Riah 
 bent over her she did not know her, but held out 
 shaking hands and asked for her mother, calling 
 the name aloud in the silent house, deserted for the 
 sake of the hospitals lower down. She was walking 
 again on and on over the hot bricks, and the deep 
 
The Altar of the War God 367 
 
 wounds were opening before her eyes while the sur- 
 geons went by with dripping hands. Once she 
 started up and cried out that the terrible blue sky 
 was crushing her down to the pavement which 
 burned her feet. Then the odour of the magnolia 
 filled her nostrils, and she talked of the scorching 
 dust, of the noise that would not stop, and of the 
 feeble breeze that blew toward her from the river. 
 All night she wandered back and forth in the broad 
 glare of the noon, and all night Mammy Riah 
 passed from the clinging hands to the window where 
 she looked for help in the empty street. And then, 
 as the gray dawn broke, Virginia put her simple 
 services by, and spoke in a clear voice. 
 
 " Oh, how lovely," she said, as if well pleased. 
 A moment more and she lay smiling like a child, her 
 chin pressed deep in her open palm. 
 
 In the full sunrise a physician, who had run in at 
 the old woman's cry, came from the house and 
 stopped bareheaded in the breathless heat. For a 
 moment he stared over the moving city and then up 
 into the cloudless blue of the sky. 
 
 ''God damn war!" he said suddenly, and went 
 back to his knife. 
 
IX 
 
 THE MONTJOY BLOOD AGAIN 
 
 A month later Dan heard of Virginia's deatK 
 when, at the end of the Seven Days, he was brought 
 wounded into Richmond. As he lay upon church 
 cushions on the floor of an old warehouse on Main 
 Street, with Big Abel shaking a tattered palm-leaf 
 fan at his side, a cavalryman came up to him and 
 held out a hand that trembled slightly from fa- 
 tigue. 
 
 " I heard you were here. Can I do anything 
 for you, Beau ? " he asked. 
 
 For an instant Dan hesitated; then the other 
 smiled, and he recognized Jack Morson. 
 
 " My God ! You've been ill ! " he exclaimed in 
 horror. Jack laughed and let his hand fall. The 
 boyish colour was gone from his face, and he wore 
 an untrimmed beard which made him look twice 
 his age. 
 
 " Never better in my life," he answered shortly. 
 " Some men are made of india-rubber, Mont joy, 
 and I'm one of them. I've managed to get into 
 most of these blessed fights about Richmond, and 
 yet I haven't so much as a pin prick to show for it. 
 But what's wrong with you? Not much, I hope. 
 I've just seen Bland, and he told me he thought you 
 were left at Malvern Hill during that hard rain on 
 
 368 
 
The Montjoy Blood Again 369 
 
 Tuesday night. How did you get knocked over, 
 anyway ? " 
 
 " A rifle ball went through my leg," replied Dan 
 impatiently. " I say, Big Abel, can't you flirt that 
 fan a little faster? These confounded flies stick 
 like molasses." Then he held up his left hand 
 and looked at it with a grim smile. " A nasty 
 fragment of a shell took off a couple of my fingers," 
 he added. " At first I thought they had begun 
 throwing hornets' nests from their guns — it felt 
 just like it. Yes, that's the worst with me so far; 
 I've still got a bone to my leg, and I'll be on the 
 field again before long, thank God." 
 
 " Well, the worst thing about getting wounded 
 is being stuffed into a hole like this," returned Jack, 
 glancing about contemptuously. " Whoever has had 
 the charge of our hospital arrangements may con- 
 gratulate himself that he has made a ghastly mess 
 of them. Why, I found a man over there in the 
 corner whose leg had mortified from sheer neglect, 
 and he told me that the supplies for the sick had 
 given out, and they'd offered him cornbread and 
 bacon for breakfast." 
 
 Dan began to toss restlessly, grumbling beneath 
 his breath. " If you ever see a ball making in your 
 direction," he advised, " dodge it clean or take it 
 square in the mouth; don't go in for any com- 
 promises with a gun, they aren't worth it." He lay 
 silent for a moment, and then spoke proudly. 
 " Big Abel hauled me off the field after I went 
 down. How he found me, God only knows, but 
 find me he did, and under fire, too." 
 
 " 'Twuz des like pepper," remarked Big Abel, fan- 
 
370 The Battle-Ground 
 
 ning briskly, " but soon es I heah dat Marse Dan 
 wuz right flat on de groun', I know dat dar warn' 
 nobody ter go atter 'im 'cep'n' me. Marse Bland 
 he come crawlin' out er de bresh, wuckin' 'long on 
 his stomick same es er mole, wid his face like a 
 rabbit w'en de dawgs are 'mos' upon 'im, en he sez 
 hard es flint, ' Beau he's down over yonder, en 
 I tried ter pull 'im out, Big Abel, 'fo' de Lawd I 
 did ! ' Den he drap right ter de yerth, en I des stop 
 long enough ter put a tin bucket on my haid 'fo' I 
 began ter crawl atter Marse Dan. Whew! dat ar 
 bucket hit sutney wuz a he'p, dat 'twuz, case I des 
 hyeard de cawn a-poppin' all aroun' hit, en dey ain' 
 never come thoo yit. 
 
 " Well, suh, w'en I h'ist dat bucket ter git a good 
 look out dar dey wuz a-fittin' twel dey bus', a- 
 dodgin' in en out er de shucks er wheat dat dey done 
 pile 'mos' up ter de haids. I ain' teck but one good 
 look, suh, den I drap de bucket down agin en keep 
 a-crawlin' like Marse Bland tole me twel I git 'mos' 
 ter de cawn fiel' dat run right spang up de hill whar 
 de big guns wuz a-spittin' fire en smoke. En sho' 
 'nough dar wuz Marse Dan lyin' unner a pine log 
 dat Marse Bland hed roll up ter 'im ter keep de 
 Yankees f'om hittin' 'im; en w'en he ketch sight er 
 me he des blink his eyes fur a minute en laugh right 
 peart. 
 
 " ' W'at dat you got on yo' haid, Big Abel ? ' he 
 sez." 
 
 " Big Abel's a hero, there's no mistake," put in 
 Dan, delighted. " Do you know he lifted me as if 
 I were a baby and toted me out of that God-for- 
 saken corn field in the hottest fire I ever felt — and 
 
The Montjoy Blood Again 371 
 
 I tipped the scales at a hundred and fifty pounds 
 before I went to Romney." 
 
 " Go way, Marse Dan, you ain' nuttin' but a rail," 
 protested Big Abel, and continued his story. " Atter 
 I done tote him outer de cawn fiel' en thoo de bresh, 
 den I begin ter peer roun' fer one er dese yer am- 
 bushes, but dere warn' nairy one un um dat warn' 
 a-bulgin' a' ready. I d'clar dey des bulged twel 
 dey sides 'mos' split. I seed a hack drive long by 
 wid two gemmen a-settin' up in hit, en one un em 
 des es well es I is, — but w'en I helt Marse Dan up 
 right high, he shake his haid en pint ter de udder 
 like he kinder skeered. ' Dis yer's my young brud- 
 der,' he sez, speakin' sof ; ' en dis yer's my young 
 Marster,' I holler back, but he shake his haid agin 
 en drive right on. Lawd, Lawd, my time's 'mos' 
 up, I 'low den — yes, suh, I do — but w'en I tu'n 
 roun' squintin' my eyes caze de sun so hot — de 
 sun he wuz kinder shinin' thoo his back like he do 
 w'en he hu't yo' eyes en you cyan' see 'im — dar 
 came a dump cyart a-joltin' up de road wid a 
 speckled mule hitch ter it. A lot er yuther w'ite 
 folks made a bee line fer dat ar dump cyart, but dey 
 warn' 'fo' me, caze w'en dey git dar, dar I wuz a-set- 
 tin' wid Marse Dan laid out across my knees. Well, 
 dey lemme go — dey bleeged ter caze I 'uz gwine 
 anyway — en de speckled mule she des laid back 
 'er years en let fly fer Richmon'. Yes, suh, I ain' 
 never seed sech a mule es dat. She 'uz des es full er 
 sperit es a colt, en her name wuz Sally." 
 
 " The worst of it was after getting here," finished 
 Dan, who had lain regarding Big Abel with a 
 proud paternal eye, " they kept us trundling round 
 
372 The Battle-Ground 
 
 in that cart for three mortal hours, because they 
 couldn't find a hole to put us into. An uncovered 
 wagon was just in front of us, filled with poor fel- 
 lows who had been half the day in the sweltering 
 heat, and we made the procession up and down 
 the city, until at last some women rushed up with 
 their servants and cleared out this warehouse. One 
 was not over sixteen and as pretty as a picture. 
 ' Don't talk to me about the proper authori- 
 ties,' she said, stamping her foot, ' I'll hang the 
 proper authorities when they turn up — and in 
 the meantime we'll go to work ! ' By Jove, 
 she was a trump, that girl! If she didn't 
 save my life, she did still better and saved my 
 leg." 
 
 " Well, I'll try to get you moved by to-morrow," 
 said Jack reassuringly. " Every home in the city 
 is filled with the wounded, they tell me, but I know 
 a little woman who had two funerals from her 
 house to-day, so she may be able to find room 
 for you. This heat is something awful, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 " Damnable. I hope, by the way, that Virginia 
 is out of it by now." 
 
 Jack flinched as if the words struck him between 
 the eyes. For a moment he stood staring at the 
 straw pallets along the wall; then he spoke in a 
 queer voice. 
 
 " Yes, Virginia's out of it by now ; Virginia's 
 dead, you know." 
 
 " Dead ! " cried Dan, and raised himself upon his 
 cushion. The room went black before him, and he 
 steadied himself by clutching at Big Abel's arm. 
 
The Montjoy Blood Again 373 
 
 At the instant the horrors of the battle-field, where 
 he had seen men fall like grass before the scythe, 
 became as nothing to the death of this one young 
 girl. He thought of her living beauty, of the 
 bright glow of her flesh, and it seemed to him that 
 the earth could not hide a thing so fair. 
 
 " I left her in Richmond in the spring," explained 
 Jack, gripping himself hard. " I was off with 
 Stuart, you know, and I thought her mother would 
 get lo her, but she couldn't pass the lines and then 
 the fight came — the one at Seven Pines and — 
 well, she died and the child with her." 
 
 Dan's eyes grew very tender; a look crept into 
 them which only Betty and his mother had seen 
 there before. 
 
 " I would have died for her if I could, Jack, you 
 know that," he said slowly. 
 
 Jack walked off a few paces and then came back 
 again. " I remember the Governor's telling me 
 once," he went on in the same hard voice, " that if 
 a man only rode boldly enough at death it would 
 always get out of the way. I didn't believe it at the 
 time, but, by God, it's true. Why, I've gone straight 
 into the enemy's lines and heard the bullets whis- 
 tling in my ears, but I've always come out whole. 
 When I rode with Stuart round McClellan's army, 
 I was side by side with poor Latane when he fell 
 in the skirmish at Old Church, and I sat stock still 
 on my horse and waited for a fellow to club me with 
 his sabre, but he wouldn't; he looked at me as if 
 he thought I had gone crazy, and actually shook 
 his head. Some men can't die, confound it, and 
 I'm one of them." 
 
374 The Battle-Ground 
 
 He went out, his spurs striking the stone steps 
 as he passed into the street, and Dan fell back upon 
 the narrow cushions to toss with fever and the 
 memory of Virginia — of Virginia in the days when 
 she wore her rose-pink gown and he believed he 
 loved her. 
 
 At the door an ambulance drew up and a 
 stretcher was brought into the building, and let 
 down in one corner. The man on it was lying 
 very still, and when he was lifted oft" and placed 
 upon the blood-soaked top of the long pine table, 
 he made no sound, either of fear or of pain. The 
 close odours of the place suddenly sickened Dan 
 and he asked Big Abel to draw him nearer the 
 open window, where he might catch the least breeze 
 from the river; but outside the July sunlight lay 
 white and hot upon the bricks, and when he strug- 
 gled up the reflected heat struck him down again. 
 On the sidewalk he saw several prisoners going 
 by amid a hooting crowd, and with his old instinct 
 to fight upon the weaker side, he hurled an oath 
 at the tormenters of his enemies. 
 
 " Go to the field, you crows, and be damned ! " 
 he called. 
 
 One of the prisoners, a ruddy-cheeked young fel- 
 low in private's clothes, looked up and touched his 
 cap. 
 
 " Thank you, sir, I hope we'll meet at the front," 
 he said, in a rich Irish brogue. Then he passed on 
 to Libby prison, while Dan turned from the window 
 and lay watching the surgeon's faces as they probed 
 for bullets. 
 
 It was a long unceiled building, filled with 
 
The Montjoy Blood Again 375 
 
 bright daylight and the buzzing of countless flies. 
 Women, who had volunteered for the service, passed 
 swiftly over the creaking boards, or knelt beside 
 the pallets as they bathed the shattered limbs 
 with steady fingers. Here and there a child held a 
 glass of water to a man who could not raise him- 
 self, or sat fanning the flies from a pallid face. 
 None was too old nor too young where there was 
 work for all. 
 
 A stir passed through the group about the long 
 pine table, and one of the surgeons, wiping the 
 sweat from his brow, came over to where Dan 
 lay, and stopped to take breath beside the win- 
 dow. 
 
 " By Jove, that man died game," he said, shaking 
 his handkerchief at the flies. " We took both his 
 legs ofT at the knee, and he just gripped the table 
 hard and never winked an eyelash. I told him it 
 would kill him, but he said he'd be hanged if he 
 didn't take his chance — and he took it and died. 
 Talk to me about nerve, that fellow had the cleanest 
 grit I ever saw." 
 
 Dan's pulses fluttered, as they always did at an 
 example of pure pluck. 
 
 " What's his regiment ? " he asked, watching the 
 two slaves who, followed by their mistresses, were 
 bringing the body back to the stretcher. 
 
 " Oh, he was a scout, I believe, serving with 
 Stuart when he was wounded. His name is — by 
 the way, his name is Montjoy. Any relative of 
 yours, I wonder ? " 
 
 Raising himself upon his elbow, Dan turned to 
 look at the dead man beside him. A heavy beard 
 
376 The Battle-Ground 
 
 covered the mouth and chin, but he knew the 
 sunken black eyes and the hair that was like his 
 own. 
 
 " Yes," he answered after a long pause, " he is 
 a relative of mine, I think ; " and then, while the 
 man lay waiting for his coffin, he propped himself 
 upon his arm and followed curiously the changes 
 made by death. 
 
 At his first recognition there had come only a 
 wave of repulsion — the old disgust that had al- 
 ways dogged the memory of his father; then, with 
 the dead face before his eyes, he was aware of 
 an unreasoning pride in the blood he bore — in 
 the fact that the soldier there had died pure game 
 to the last. It was as a braggart and a bully that he 
 had always thought of him; now he knew that at 
 least he was not a craven — that he could take 
 blows as he dealt them, from the shoulder out. He 
 had hated his father, he told himself unflinchingly, 
 and he did not love him now. Had the dead man 
 opened his eyes he could have struck him back 
 again with his mother's memory for a weapon. 
 There had been war between them to the grave, 
 and yet, despite himself, he knew that he had lost 
 his old boyish shame of the Mont joy blood. With 
 the instinct of his race to glorify physical courage, 
 he had seen the shadow of his boyhood loom from 
 the petty into the gigantic. Jack Mont joy may have 
 been a scoundrel, — doubtless he was one, — but, with 
 all his misdeeds on his shoulders, he had lived pure 
 game to the end. 
 
 A fresh bleeding of Dan's wound brought on a 
 sudden faintness, and he fell heavily upon Big 
 
The Montjoy Blood Again 377 
 
 Abel's arm. With the pain a groan hovered an 
 instant on his lips, but, closing his eyes, he bit it 
 back and lay silent. For the first time in his life 
 there had come to him, like an impulse, the knowl- 
 edge that he must not lower his father's name. 
 
BOOK FOURTH 
 
 THE RETURN OF THE VANQUISHED 
 
BOOK FOURTH 
 
 THE RETURN OF THE VANQUISHED 
 
 I 
 
 THE RAGGED ARMY 
 
 The brigade had halted to gather rations in a 
 corn field beside the road, and Dan, lying with his 
 head in the shadow of a clump of sumach, hungrily 
 regarded the " roasting ears " which Pinetop had 
 just rolled in the ashes. A malarial fever, which 
 he had contracted in the swamps of the Chicka- 
 hominy, had wasted his vitality until he had begun 
 to look like the mere shadow of himself ; gaunt, un- 
 washed, hollow-eyed, yet wearing his torn gray 
 jacket and brimless cap as jauntily as he had once 
 worn his embroidered waistcoats. His hand trem- 
 bled as he reached out for his share of the green 
 corn, but weakened as he was by sickness and 
 starvation, the defiant humour shone all the clearer 
 in his eyes. He had still the heart for a whistle, 
 Bland had said last night, looking at him a little 
 wistfully. 
 
 As he lay there, with the dusty sumach shrub 
 above him, he saw the ragged army pushing on into 
 the turnpike that led to Maryland. Lean, sun- 
 scorched, half-clothed, dropping its stragglers like 
 381 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 17 
 
382 The Battle-Ground 
 
 leaves upon the roadside, marching in borrowed 
 rags, and fighting with the weapons of its enemies, 
 dirty, fevered, choking with the hot dust of the 
 turnpike — it still pressed onward, bending like a 
 blade beneath Lee's hand. For this army of the 
 sick, fighting slow agues, old wounds, and the sharp 
 diseases that follow on green food, was becoming 
 suddenly an army of invasion. The road led into 
 Maryland, and the brigades swept into it, jesting 
 like schoolboys on a frolic. 
 
 Dan, stretched exhausted beside the road, ate 
 his ear of corn, and idly watched the regiment that 
 was marching by — marching, not with the even 
 tread of regular troops, but with scattered ranks 
 and broken column, each man limping in worn-out 
 shoes, at his own pace. They were not fancy sol- 
 diers, these men, he felt as he looked after them. 
 They were not imposing upon the road, but when 
 their chance came to fight, they would be very sure 
 to take it. Here and there a man still carried his old 
 squirrel musket, with a rusted skillet handle stuck 
 into the barrel, but when before many days the skil- 
 let would be withdrawn, the load might be relied 
 upon to wing straight home a little later. On wet 
 nights those muskets would stand upright upon their 
 bayonets, with muzzles in the earth, while the rain 
 dripped off, and on dry days they would carry aloft 
 the full property of the mess, which had dwindled to 
 a frying pan and an old quart cup; though seldom 
 cleaned, they were always fit for service — or if 
 they went foul what was easier than to pick up a 
 less trusty one upon the field. On the other side 
 hung the blankets, tied at the ends and worn like 
 
The Ragged Army 383 
 
 a sling from the left shoulder. The haversack was 
 gone and with it the knapsack and the overcoat. 
 When a man wanted a change of linen he knelt 
 down and washed his single shirt in the brook, sit- 
 ting in the sun while it dried upon the bank. If it 
 was long in drying he put it on, wet as it was, and 
 ran ahead to fall in with his company. Where the 
 discipline was easy, each infantryman might become 
 his own commissary. 
 
 Dan finished his corn, threw the husks over his 
 head, and sat up, looking idly at the irregular ranks. 
 He was tired and sick, and after a short rest it 
 seemed all the harder to get up and take the road 
 again. As he sat there he began to bandy words 
 with the sergeant of a Maryland regiment that was 
 passing. 
 
 " Hello ! what brigade ? " called the sergeant in 
 friendly tones. He looked fat and well fed, and 
 Dan felt this to be good ground for resentment. 
 
 " General Straggler's brigade, but it's none of 
 your business," he promptly retorted. 
 
 " General Straggler has a pretty God-forsaken 
 crew," taunted the sergeant, looking back as he 
 stepped on briskly. " I've seen his regiments lining 
 the road clear up from Chantilly." 
 
 " If you'd kept your fat eyes open at Manassas 
 the other day, you'd have seen them lining the bat- 
 tle-field as well," pursued Dan pleasantly, chewing 
 a long green blade of corn. " Old Stonewall saw 
 them, I'll be bound. If General Straggler didn't 
 win that battle I'd like to know who did." 
 
 " Oh, shucks ! " responded the sergeant, and was 
 out of hearing. 
 
384 The Battle- Ground 
 
 The regiment passed by and another took its 
 place. " Was that General Lee you were yelling at 
 down there, boys ? " inquired Dan politely, smiling 
 the smile of a man who sits by the roadside and 
 sees another sweating on the march. 
 
 " Naw, that warn't Marse Robert," replied a 
 private, limping with bare feet over the border of 
 dried grass. " 'Twas a blamed, blank, bottomless 
 well, that's what 'twas. I let my canteen down 
 on a string and it never came back no mo'." 
 
 Dan lowered his eyes, and critically regarded the 
 tattered banner of the regiment, covered with the 
 names of the battles over which it had hung un- 
 furled. " Tennessee, aren't you ? " he asked, follow- 
 ing the flag. 
 
 The private shook his head, and stooped to re- 
 move a pebble from between his toes. 
 
 " Naw, we ain't from Tennessee," he drawled. 
 " We've had the measles — that's what's the matter 
 with us." 
 
 " You show it, by Jove," said Dan, laughing. 
 " Step quickly, if you please — this is the cleanest 
 brigade in the army." 
 
 " Huh ! " exclaimed the private, eying them 
 with contempt. " You look like it, don't you, sonny ? 
 Why, I'd ketch the mumps jest to look at sech a set 
 o' rag-a-mufiins ! " 
 
 He went on, still grunting, while Dan rose to his 
 feet and slung his blanket from his shoulder. 
 " Look here, does anybody know where we're go- 
 ing anyway ? " he asked of the blue sky. 
 
 " I seed General Jackson about two miles up," 
 replied a passing countryman, who had led his 
 
The Ragged Army 385 
 
 horse into the corn field. " Whoopee ! he was going 
 at a God-a'mighty pace, I tell you. If he keeps 
 that up he'll be over the Potomac before sunset." 
 
 " Then we are going into Maryland ! " cried Jack 
 Powell, jumping to his feet. " Hurrah for Mary- 
 land ! We're going to Maryland, God bless her ! " 
 
 The shouts passed down the road and the Mary- 
 land regiment in front sent back three rousing 
 cheers. 
 
 " By Jove, I hope I'll find some shoes there," 
 said Dan, shaking the sand from his ragged boots, 
 and twisting the shreds of his stockings about his 
 feet. " I've had to punch holes in my soles and lace 
 them with shoe strings to the upper leather, or 
 they'd have dropped off long ago." 
 
 " Well, I'll begin by making love to a seamstress 
 when I'm over the Potomac," remarked Welch, 
 getting upon his feet. " I'm decidedly in need of 
 a couple of patches." 
 
 " You make love ! You ! " roared Jack Powell. 
 " Why, you're the kind of thing they set up in 
 Maryland to keep the crows away. Now if it were 
 Beau, there, I see some sense in it — for, I'll be 
 bound, he's slain more hearts than Yankees in this 
 campaign. The women always drain out their last 
 drop of buttermilk when he goes on a forage." 
 
 " Oh, I don't set up to be a popinjay," retorted 
 Welch witheringly. 
 
 " Popinjay, the devil ! " scowled Dan, " who's 
 a popinjay? " 
 
 " Wall, I'd like a pair of good stout breeches," 
 peacefully interposed Pinetop. " I've been backin' 
 up agin the fence when I seed a lady comin' for the 
 
386 The Battle-Ground 
 
 last three weeks, an' whenever I set down, I'm plum 
 feared to git up agin. What with all the other 
 things, — the Yankees, and the chills, and the 
 measles, — it's downright hard on a man to have 
 to be a-feared of his own breeches." 
 
 Dan looked round with sympathy. " That's true ; 
 it's a shame," he admitted smiling. " Look here, 
 boys, has anybody got an extra pair of breeches ? " 
 
 A howl of derision went up from the regiment 
 as it fell into ranks. 
 
 " Has anybody got a few grape-leaves to spare ? " 
 it demanded in a high chorus. 
 
 " Oh, shut up," responded Dan promptly. " Come 
 on, Pinetop, we'll clothe ourselves to-morrow." 
 
 The brigade formed and swung off rapidly along 
 the road, where the dust lay like gauze upon the 
 sunshine. At the end of a mile somebody stopped 
 and cried out excitedly. " Look here, boys, the per- 
 simmons on that tree over thar are gittin' 'mos fit to 
 eat. I can see 'em turnin'," and with the words 
 the column scattered like chaff across the field. 
 But the first man to reach the tree came back with 
 a wry face, and fell to swearing at ' the darn fool 
 who could eat persimmons before frost." 
 
 " Thar's a tree in my yard that gits ripe about 
 September," remarked Pinetop, as he returned de- 
 jectedly across the waste. " Ma she begins to dry 
 'em 'fo' the frost sets in." 
 
 " Oh, well, we'll get a square meal in the morn- 
 ing," responded Dan, growing cheerful as he 
 dreamed of hospitable Maryland. 
 
 Some hours later, in the warm dusk, they went 
 into bivouac among the trees, and, in a little 
 
The Ragged Army 387 
 
 while, the campfires made a red glow upon the twi- 
 light. 
 
 Pinetop, with a wooden bucket on his arm, had 
 plunged off in search of water, and Dan and Jack 
 Powell were sent, in the interests of the mess, to 
 forage through the surrounding country. 
 
 " There's a fat farmer about ten miles down, I 
 saw him," remarked a lazy smoker, by way of polite 
 suggestion. 
 
 " Ten miles ? Well, of all the confounded impu- 
 dence," retorted Jack, as he strolled off with Dan 
 into the darkness. 
 
 For a time they walked in silence, depressed by 
 hunger and the exhaustion of the march ; then Dan 
 broke into a whistle, and presently they found 
 themselves walking in step with the merry air. 
 
 " Where are your thoughts, Beau ? " asked Jack 
 suddenly, turning to look at him by the faint 
 starlight. 
 
 Dan's whistle stopped abruptly. 
 
 " On a dish of fried chicken and a pot of coffee," 
 he replied at once. 
 
 " What's become of the waffles ? " demanded 
 Jack indignantly. " I say, old man, do you remem- 
 ber the sinful waste on those blessed Christmas Eves 
 at Chericoke? I've been trying to count the differ- 
 ent kinds of meat — roast beef, roast pig, roast 
 goose, roast turkey — " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, won't you ? " 
 
 " Well, I was just thinking that if I ever reach 
 home alive I'll deliver the Ma j or a lecture on his 
 extravagance." 
 
 " It isn't the Major; it's grandma," groaned Dan 
 
388 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " Oh, that queen among women ! " exclaimed 
 Jack fervently; "but the wines are the Major's, I 
 reckon, — it seems to me I recall some port of which 
 he was vastly proud." 
 
 Dan delivered a blow that sent Jack on his knees 
 in the stubble of an old corn field. 
 
 " If you want to make me eat you, you're going 
 straight about it," he declared. 
 
 " Look out ! " cried Jack, struggling to his feet, 
 " there's a light over there among the trees," and 
 they walked on briskly up a narrow country lane 
 which led, after several turnings, to a large frame 
 house well hidden from the road. 
 
 In the doorway a woman was standing, with a 
 lamp held above her head, and when she saw them 
 she gave a little breathless call. 
 
 " Is that you, Jim ? " 
 
 Dan went up the steps and stood, cap in hand, 
 before her. The lamplight was full upon his ragged 
 clothes and upon his pallid face with its strong 
 high-bred lines of mouth and chin. 
 
 " I thought you were my husband," said the 
 woman, blushing at her mistake. " If you want 
 food you are welcome to the little that I have 
 — it is very little." She led the way into the 
 house, and motioned, with a pitiable gesture, to a 
 table that was spread in the centre of the sitting 
 room. 
 
 " Will you sit down ? " she asked, and at the 
 words, a child in the corner of the room set up 
 a frightened cry. 
 
 " It's my supper — I want my supper," wailed 
 the child. 
 
The Ragged Army 389 
 
 " Hush, dear," said the woman, " they are our 
 soldiers." 
 
 " Our soldiers," repeated the child, staring, with its 
 thumb in its mouth and the tear-drops on its cheeks. 
 
 For an instant Dan looked at them as they stood 
 there, the woman holding the child .in her arms, 
 and biting her thin lips from which hunger had 
 drained all the red. There was scant food on the 
 table, and as his gaze went back to it, it seemed 
 to him that, for the first time, he grasped the 
 full meaning of a war for the people of the soil. 
 This was the real thing — not the waving banners, 
 not the bayonets, not the fighting in the ranks. 
 
 His eyes were on the woman, and she smiled as 
 all women did upon whom he looked in kindness. 
 
 " My dear madam, you have mistaken our pur- 
 pose — we are not as hungry as we look," he said, 
 bowing in his ragged jacket. " We were sent 
 merely to ask you if you were in need of a guard 
 for your smokehouse. My Colonel hopes that you 
 have not suffered at our hands." 
 
 " There is nothing left," replied the woman mys- 
 tified, yet relieved. " There is nothing to guard ex- 
 cept the children and myself, and we are safe, I 
 think. Your Colonel is very kind — I thank him ; " 
 and as they went out she lighted them with her 
 lamp from the front steps. 
 
 An hour later they returned to camp with aching 
 limbs and empty hands. 
 
 " There's nothing above ground," they reported, 
 flinging themselves beside the fire, though the 
 night was warm. " We've scoured the whole coun- 
 try and the Federals have licked it as clean as a 
 
390 The Battle-Ground 
 
 plate before us. Bless my soul ! what's that I smell ? 
 Is this heaven, boys ? " 
 
 "Licked it clean, have they?" jeered the mess. 
 " Well, they left a sheep anyhow loose somewhere. 
 Beau's darky hadn't gone a hundred yards before 
 he found one." 
 
 " Big Abel? You don't say so?" whistled Dan, 
 in astonishment, regarding the mutton suspended 
 on ramrods above the coals. 
 
 " Well, suh, 'twuz des like dis," explained Big 
 Abel, poking the roast with a small stick. " I know I 
 ain' got a bit a bus'ness ter shoot dat ar sheep wid 
 my ole gun, but de sheep she ain' got no better 
 bus'ness strayin' roun' loose needer. She sutney 
 wuz a dang'ous sheep, dat she wuz. I 'uz des 
 a-bleeged ter put a bullet in her haid er she'd er hed 
 my blood sho'." 
 
 As the shout went up he divided the legs of mut- 
 ton into shares and went off to eat his own on 
 the dark edge of the wood. 
 
 A little later he came back to hang Dan's cap and 
 jacket on the branches of a young pine tree. When 
 he had arranged them with elaborate care, he raked 
 a bed of tags together, and covered them with an 
 army blanket stamped in the centre with the half 
 obliterated letters U. S. 
 
 " That's a good boy, Big Abel, go to sleep," said 
 Dan, flinging himself down upon the pine-tag bed. 
 " Strange how much spirit a sheep can put into a 
 man. I wouldn't run now if I saw Pope's whole 
 army coming." 
 
 Turning over he lay sleepily gazing into the blue 
 dusk illuminated with the campfires which were 
 
The Ragged Army 391 
 
 slowly dying down. Around him he heard the sub- 
 dued murmur of the mess, deep and full, though ris- 
 ing now and then into a clearer burst of laughter. 
 The men were smoking their brier-root pipes about 
 the embers, leaning against the dim bodies of the 
 pines, while they discussed the incidents of the march 
 with a touch of the unconquerable humour of the 
 Confederate soldier. Somebody had a fresh joke 
 on the quartermaster, and everybody hoped great 
 things of the campaign into Maryland. 
 
 " I pray it may bring me a pair of shoes," mut- 
 tered Dan, as he dropped off into slumber. 
 
 The next day, with bands playing " Maryland, 
 My Maryland," and the Southern Cross taking the 
 September wind, the ragged army waded the Poto- 
 mac, and passed into other fields. 
 
II 
 
 A STRAGGLER FROM THE RANKS 
 
 In two weeks it swept back, wasted, stub- 
 born, hungrier than ever. On a sultry Septem- 
 ber afternoon, Dan, who had gone down with a 
 sharp return of fever, was brought, with a wagon- 
 ful of the wounded, and placed on a heap of straw 
 on the brick pavement of Shepherdstown. For two 
 days he had been delirious, and Big Abel had held 
 him to his bed during the long nights when the 
 terrible silence seemed filled with the noise of 
 battle; but, as he was lifted from the wagon and 
 laid upon the sidewalk, he opened his eyes and spoke 
 in a natural voice. 
 
 " What's all this fuss, Big Abel ? Have I been 
 out of my head ? " 
 
 " You sutney has, suh. You've been a-prayin' 
 en shoutin' so loud dese las' tree days dat I wun- 
 ner de Lawd ain' done shet yo' mouf des ter git rid 
 er you." 
 
 " Praying, have I ? " said Dan. " Well, I declare. 
 That reminds me of Mr. Blake, Big Abel. I'd like 
 to know what's become of him." 
 
 Big Abel shook his head ; he was in no pleasant 
 humour, for the corners of his mouth were drawn 
 tightly down and there was a rut between his 
 bushy eyebrows. 
 
 39» 
 
A Straggler from the Ranks 393 
 
 " I nuver seed no sich place es dis yer town in 
 all my lifetime," he grumbled. " Dey des let us 
 lie roun' loose on de bricks same es ef we ain' been 
 fittin' fur 'em twel we ain' nuttin' but skin en bone. 
 Dose two wagon loads er cut-up sodgers hev done 
 fill de houses so plum full dat dey sticks spang 
 thoo de cracks er de do's. Don' talk ter me, suh, 
 I ain' got no use fur dis wah, noways, caze hit's a 
 low-lifeted one, dat's what 'tis ; en ef you'd a min' 
 w'at I tell you, you'd be settin' up at home right dis 
 minute wid ole Miss a-feedin' you on br'ile chicken. 
 You may fit all you wanter — I ain' sayin' nuttin' 
 agin yo' fittin ef yo' spleen hit's up — but you could 
 er foun' somebody ter fit wid back at home widout 
 comin' out hyer ter git yo'se'f a-jumbled up wid all 
 de po' white trash in de county. Dis yer wah ain' 
 de kin' I'se use ter, caze hit jumbles de quality en 
 de trash tergedder des like dey wuz bo'n blood kin." 
 
 " What are you muttering about now, Big Abel ? " 
 broke in Dan impatiently. " For heaven's sake stop 
 and find me a bed to lie on. Are they going to leave 
 me out here in the street on this pile of straw ? " 
 
 " De Lawd he knows," hopelessly responded Big 
 Abel. " Dey's a-fixin' places, dey sez, dat's why all 
 dese folks is a-runnin' dis away en dat away like 
 chickens wid dere haids chopped off. 'Fo' you hed 
 yo' sense back dey wanted ter stick you over yonder 
 in dat ole blue shanty wid all de skin peelin' off 
 hit, but I des put my foot right down en 'lowed 
 dey 'ouldn't. W'at you wan' ketch mo'n you got 
 fur?" 
 
 " But I can't stay here," weakly remonstrated 
 Dan, " and I must have something to eat — I tell 
 
394 'Fh e Battle-Ground 
 
 you I could eat nails. Bring me anything on God's 
 earth except green corn." 
 
 The street was filled with women, and one of 
 them, passing with a bowl of gruel in her hand, 
 came back and held it to his lips. 
 
 " You poor fellow ! " she said impulsively, in a 
 voice that was rich with sympathy. " Why, I don't 
 believe you've had a bite for a month." 
 
 Dan smiled at her from his heap of straw — an 
 unkempt haggard figure. 
 
 " Not from so sweet a hand," he responded, his 
 old spirit rising strong above misfortune. 
 
 His voice held her, and she regarded him with 
 a pensive face. She had known men in her day, 
 which had declined long since toward its evening, 
 and with the unerring instinct of her race she knew 
 that the one before her was well worth the saving. 
 Gallantry that could afford to jest in rags upon 
 a pile of straw appealed to her Southern blood as 
 little short of the heroic. She saw the pinch of 
 hunger about the mouth, and she saw, too, the 
 singular beauty which lay, obscured to less keen 
 eyes, beneath the fever and the dirt. 
 
 " The march must have been fearful — I couldn't 
 have stood it," she said, half to test the man. 
 
 Rising to the challenge, he laughed outright. 
 " Well, since you mention it, it wasn't just the 
 thing for a lady," he answered, true to his salt. 
 
 For a moment she looked at him in silence, then 
 turned regretfully to Big Abel. 
 
 " The houses have filled up already, I believe," she 
 said, " but there is a nice dry stable up the street 
 which has just been cleaned out for a hospital. 
 
A Straggler from the Ranks 395 
 
 Carry your master up the next square and then 
 into the alley a few steps where you will find a 
 nhysician. I am going now for food and bandages." 
 
 She hurried on, and Big Abel, seizing Dan be- 
 neath the arms, dragged him breathlessly along the 
 street. 
 
 " A stable ! Huh ! Hit's a wunner dey ain' ax us 
 ter step right inter a nice clean pig pen," he mut- 
 tered as he walked on rapidly. 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind the stable, but this pace will 
 kill me," groaned Dan. " Not so fast, Big Abel, 
 not so fast." 
 
 " Dis yer ain' no time to poke," replied Big Abel, 
 sternly, and lifting the young man in his arms, he 
 carried him bodily into the stable and laid him 
 on a clean-smelling bed of straw. The place was 
 large and well lighted, and Dan, as he turned over, 
 heaved a grateful sigh. 
 
 " Let me sleep — only let me sleep," he implored 
 weakly. 
 
 And for two days he slept, despite the noise about 
 him. Dressed in clean clothes, brought by the lady 
 of the morning, and shaved by the skilful hand 
 of Big Abel, he buried himself in the fresh straw 
 and dreamed of Chericoke and Betty. The coil of 
 battle swept far from him; he heard none of 
 the fret and rumour that filled the little street ; even 
 the moans of the men beneath the surgeons' knives 
 did not penetrate to where he lay sunk in the 
 stupor of perfect contentment. It was not until 
 the morning of the third day, when the winds that 
 blew over the Potomac brought the sounds of battle, 
 that he was shocked back into a troubled conscious- 
 
396 The Battle- Ground 
 
 ness of his absence from the army. Then he heard 
 the voices of the guns calling to him from across 
 the river, and once or twice he struggled up to 
 answer. 
 
 " I must go, Big Abel — they are in need of me," 
 he said. " Listen! don't you hear them calling?" 
 
 " Go way fom yer, Marse Dan, dey's des a-firin' 
 at one anurr," returned Big Abel, but Dan still 
 tossed impatiently, his strained eyes searching- 
 through the door into the cloudy light of the alley. 
 It was a sombre day, and the oppressive atmosphere 
 seemed heavy with the smoke of battle. 
 
 " If I only knew how it was going," he mur- 
 mured, in the anguish of uncertainty. " Hush ! 
 isn't that a cheer, Big Abel ? " 
 
 "I don' heah nuttin' but de crowin' er a rooster 
 on de fence." 
 
 " There it is again ! " cried Dan, starting up. " I 
 can swear it is our side. Listen — go to the door — 
 by God, man, that's our yell ! Ah, there comes 
 the rattle of the muskets — don't you hear it ? " 
 
 " Lawd, Marse Dan, Fse done hyern dat soun' 
 twel I'm plum sick er it," responded Big Abel, 
 carefully measuring out a dose of arsenic, which 
 had taken the place of quinine in a country where 
 medicine was becoming as scarce as food. " You 
 des swallow dis yer stuff right down en tu'n over en 
 go fas' asleep agin." 
 
 Taking the glass with trembling hands, Dan 
 drained it eagerly. 
 
 " It's the artillery now," he said, quivering with 
 excitement. " The explosions come so fast I can 
 hardly separate them. I never knew how long 
 
A Straggler from the Ranks 397 
 
 shells could screech before — do you mean to say 
 they are really across the river? Go into the alley, 
 Big Abel, and tell me if you see the smoke." 
 
 Big Abel went out and returned, after a few 
 moments, with the news that the smoke could be 
 plainly seen, he was told, from the upper stories. 
 There was such a crowd in the street, he added, 
 that he could barely get along — nobody knew any- 
 thing, but the wounded, who were arriving in great 
 numbers, reported that General Lee could hold 
 his ground " against Lucifer and all his angels." 
 
 " Hold his ground, " groaned Dan, with feverish 
 enthusiasm, " why, he could hold a hencoop, for 
 the matter of that, against the whole of North 
 America! Oh, but this is worse than fighting. I 
 must get up ! " 
 
 " You don' wanter git out dar in dat mess er 
 skeered rabbits," returned Big Abel. " You cyarn 
 see yo' han' befo' you fur de way dey's w'igglin' 
 roun' de street, en w'at's mo' you cyarn heah yo' 
 own w'uds fur de racket dey's a-kickin' up. Des 
 lis'en ter 'em now, des lis'en ! " 
 
 " Oh, I wish I could tell our guns," murmured 
 Dan at each quick explosion. " Hush ! there comes 
 the cheer, now — somebody's charging ! It may be 
 our brigade, Big Abel, and I not in it." 
 
 He closed his eyes and fell back from sheer ex- 
 haustion, still following, as he lay there, the battalion 
 that had sprung forward with that charging yell. 
 Gray, obscured in smoke, curved in the centre, un- 
 even as the Confederate line of battle always was 
 ■ — he saw it sweep onward over the September 
 field. At the moment to have had his place in that 
 
398 The Battle-Ground 
 
 charge beyond the river, he would have cheerfully 
 met his death when the day was over. 
 
 Through the night he slept fitfully, awaking 
 from time to time to ask eagerly if it were not al- 
 most daybreak; then with the dawn the silence 
 that had fallen over the Potomac seemed to leave 
 a greater blank to be filled with the noises along 
 the Virginia shore. The hurrying footsteps in the 
 street outside kept up ceaselessly until the dark 
 again; mingled with the cries of the wounded and 
 the prayers of the frightened he heard always that 
 eager, tireless passing of many feet. So familiar it 
 became, so constant an accompaniment to his rest- 
 less thoughts, that when at last the day wore out 
 and the streets grew empty, he found himself listen- 
 ing for the steps of a passer-by as intently as he had 
 listened in the morning for the renewed clamour 
 of battle on the Maryland fields. 
 
 The stir of the retreat did not reach to the stable 
 where he lay ; all night the army was recrossing 
 the Potomac, but to Dan, tossing on his bed of 
 straw, it lighted the victors' watch-fires on the dis- 
 puted ground. He had not seen the shattered line 
 of battle as it faced disease, exhaustion, and an army 
 stronger by double numbers, nor had he seen the 
 gray soldiers lying row on row where they had kept 
 the " sunken road." Thick as the trampled corn 
 beneath them, with the dust covering them like 
 powder, and the scattered fence rails lying across 
 their faces, the dead men of his own brigade were 
 stretched upon the hillside. The river shut these 
 things from his knowledge, but through the long 
 night he lay wakeful in the stable, watching with 
 
A Straggler from the Ranks 399 
 
 fevered eyes the tallow dips that burned dimly on 
 the wall. 
 
 In the morning a nurse, coming with a bowl of 
 soup, brought the news that Lee's army was again 
 on Virginia soil. 
 
 " McClellan has opened a battery," she explained, 
 " that's the meaning of this fearful noise — did you 
 ever hear such sounds in your life ? Yes, the shells 
 are flying over the town, but they've done no harm 
 as yet." 
 
 She hastened off, and a little later a dishevelled 
 straggler, with a cloth about his forehead, burst in 
 at the open door. 
 
 " They're shelling the town," he cried, waving 
 a dirty hand, " an' you'll be prisoners in an hour 
 if you don't git up and move. The Yankees are 
 comin', I seed 'em cross the river. Lee's cut up, 
 I tell you, he's left half his army dead in Mary- 
 land. Thar! they're shellin' the town,sho' 'nough! " 
 
 With a last wave he disappeared into the alley, 
 and Dan struggled from his bed and to the door. 
 " Give me your arm, Big Abel," he said, speaking 
 in a loud voice that he might be heard above 
 the clamour. " I can't stay here. It isn't being 
 killed I mind, but, by God, they'll never take me 
 prisoner so long as I'm alive. Come here and 
 give me your arm. You aren't afraid to go out, 
 are you ? " 
 
 " Lawd,Marse Dan,I'se mo' feared ter stay hyer," 
 responded Big Abel, with an ashen face. " Whar 
 we gwine hide, anyhow ? " 
 
 " We won't hide, we'll run," returned Dan 
 gravely, and with his arm on the negro's shoulder, 
 
400 The Battle-Ground 
 
 he passed through the alley out into the street. 
 There the noise bewildered him an instant, and his 
 eyes went blind while he grasped Big Abel's sleeve. 
 
 " Wait a minute, I can't see," he said. " Now, 
 that's right, go on. By George, it's bedlam turned 
 loose, let's get out of it ! " 
 
 " Dis away, Marse Dan, dis away, step right 
 hyer," urged Big Abel, as he slipped through the 
 hurrying crowd of fugitives which packed the street. 
 White and black, men and women, sick and well, 
 they swarmed up and down in the dim sunshine 
 beneath the flying shells, which skimmed the town 
 to explode in the open fields beyond. The wounded 
 were there — all who could stand upon their feet 
 or walk with the aid of crutches — stumbling on in 
 a mad panic to the meadows where the shells burst 
 or the hot sun poured upon festering cuts. Stream- 
 ing in noisy groups, the slaves fled after them, pray- 
 ing, shrieking, calling out that the day of judg- 
 ment was upon them, yet bearing upon their heads 
 whatever they could readily lay hands on — bun- 
 dles, baskets, babies, and even clucking fowls tied 
 by the legs. Behind them went a troop of dogs, 
 piercing the tumult with excited barks. 
 
 Dan, fevered, pallid, leaning heavily upon Big 
 Abel, passed unnoticed amid a throng which was, 
 for the most part, worse off than himself. Men with 
 old wounds breaking out afresh, or new ones stain- 
 ing red the cloths they wore, pushed wildly by him, 
 making, as all made, for the country roads that 
 led from war to peace. It was as if the hospitals of 
 the world had disgorged themselves in the sun« 
 shine on the bright September fields. 
 
A Straggler from the Ranks 401 
 
 Once, as Dan moved slowly on, he came upon a 
 soldier, with a bandage at his throat sitting motion- 
 less upon a rock beside a clump of thistles, and 
 moved by the expression of supreme terror on the 
 man's face, he stopped and laid a hand upon his 
 jhoulder. 
 
 " What's the trouble, friend — given up ? " he 
 asked, and then drew back quickly for the man 
 was dead. After this they went on more rapidly, 
 flying from the horrors along the road as from the 
 screaming shells and the dread of capture. 
 
 At the hour of sunset, after many halts upon the 
 way, they found themselves alone and still facing the 
 open road. Since midday they had stopped for din- 
 ner with a hospitable farmer, and, some hours later, 
 Big Abel had feasted on wild grapes, which he 
 had found hidden in the shelter of a little wood. 
 In the same wood a stream had tinkled over sil- 
 ver rocks, and Dan, lying upon the bank of moss, 
 had bathed his face and hands in the clear water. 
 Now, while the shadows fell in spires across the 
 road, they turned into a quiet country lane, and 
 stood watching the sun as it dropped beyond the 
 gray stone wall. In the grass a small insect broke 
 into a low humming, and the silence, closing the 
 next instant, struck upon Dan's ears like a profound 
 and solemn melody. He took off his cap, and still 
 leaning upon Big Abel, looked with rested eyes 
 on the sloping meadow brushed with the first gold 
 of autumn. Something that was not unlike shame 
 had fallen over him — as if the horrors of the morn- 
 ing were a mere vulgar affront which man had put 
 upon the face of na*ss r £. The very anguish of the 
 
402 The Battle-Ground 
 
 day obtruded awkwardly upon his thoughts, and the 
 wild clamour he had left behind him showed with 
 a savage crudeness against a landscape in which 
 the dignity of earth — of the fruitful life of seasons 
 and of crops — produced in a solitary observer a 
 quiet that was not untouched by awe. Where 
 nature was suggestive of the long repose of ages, 
 the brief passions of a single generation became as 
 the flicker of a candle or the glow of a firefly in 
 the night. 
 
 " Dat's a steep road ahead er us," remarked Big 
 Abel suddenly, as he stared into the shadows. 
 
 Dan came back with a start. 
 
 " Where shall we sleep ? " he asked. " No, not 
 in that field — the open sky would keep me awake, 
 I think. Let's bivouac in the woods as usual." 
 
 They moved on a little way and entered a young 
 pine forest, where Big Abel gathered a handful of 
 branches and kindled a light blaze. 
 
 " You ain' never eat nigger food, is you, Marse 
 Dan ? " he inquired as he did so. 
 
 " Good Lord! " ejaculated Dan, " ask a man who 
 has lived two months on corn-field peas if he's eaten 
 hog food, and he'll be pretty sure to answer ' yes.' 
 Do you know we must have crawled about six 
 miles to-day." He lay back on the pine tags and 
 stared straight above where the long green needles 
 were illuminated on a background of purple space. 
 A few fireflies made golden points among the tree- 
 tops. 
 
 " Well, I'se got a hunk er middlin'," pursued Big 
 Abel thoughtfully, " a strip er fat en a strip er lean 
 des like hit oughter be — but a nigger 'ooman she 
 
A Straggler from the Ranks 403 
 
 gun hit ter me, en I 'low Ole Marster wouldn't tech 
 hit wid a ten-foot pole." He stuck the meat upon 
 the end of Dan's bayonet and held it before the 
 flames. " Ole Marster wouldn't tech hit, but den 
 he ain' never had dese times." 
 
 " You're right," replied Dan idly, filling his pipe 
 and lighting it with a small red ember, " and all 
 things considered, I don't think I'll raise any racket 
 about that middling, Big Abel." 
 
 " Hit ain' all nigger food, no how," added Big 
 Abel reflectively, "caze de 'ooman she done steal it 
 f'om w'ite folks sho's you bo'n." 
 
 " I only wish she had been tempted to steal some 
 bread along with it," rejoined Dan. 
 
 Big Abel's answer was to draw a hoecake wrapped 
 in an old newspaper from his pocket and place it 
 on a short pine stump. Then he reached for his 
 jack-knife and carefully slit the hoecake down the 
 centre, after which he laid the bacon in slices be- 
 tween the crusts. 
 
 " Did she steal that, too? " inquired Dan laughing. 
 
 " Naw, suh, I stole dis." 
 
 " Well, I never ! You'll be ashamed to look the 
 Major in the face when the war is over." 
 
 Big Abel nodded gloomily as he passed the sand- 
 wich to Dan, who divided it into two equal por- 
 tions. " Dar's somebody got ter do de stealin' in dis 
 yer worl'," he returned with rustic philosophy, 
 " des es dar's somebody got ter be w'ite folks en 
 somebody got ter be nigger, caze de same pusson 
 cyarn be ner en ter dat's sho'. Dar ain' '00m fer all 
 de yerth ter strut roun' wid dey han's in dey pock- 
 ets en dey nose tu'nt up des caze dey's hones'. 
 
404 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Lawd, Lawd, ef I'd a-helt my han's back f'om 
 pickin' en stealin' thoo dis yer wah, whar 'ould you 
 be now — I ax you dat ? " 
 
 Catching a dried branch the flame shot up sud- 
 denly, and he sat relieved against the glow, like 
 a gigantic statue in black basalt. 
 
 " Well, all's fair in love and war," replied Dan, 
 adjusting himself to changed conditions. " If that 
 wasn't as true as gospel, I should be dead to-mor- 
 row from this fat bacon." 
 
 Big Abel started up. 
 
 " Lis' en ter dat ole hoot owl," he exclaimed ex- 
 citedly, " he's a-settin' right over dar on dat dead 
 limb a-hootin' us plum in de mouf. Ain' dat like 
 'em, now? Is you ever seed sech airs as dey put 
 on r 
 
 He strode off into the darkness, and Dan, seized 
 with a sudden homesickness for the army, lay down 
 beside his musket and fell asleep. 
 
Ill 
 
 THE CABIN IN THE WOODS 
 
 At daybreak they took up the march again, Dan 
 walking slowly, with his musket striking the ground 
 and his arm on Big Abel's shoulder. Where the 
 lane curved in the hollow, they came upon a white 
 cottage, with a woman milking a spotted cow in the 
 barnyard. As she caught sight of them, she waved 
 wildly with her linsey apron, holding the milk pail 
 carefully between her feet as the spotted cow turned 
 inquiringly. 
 
 " Go 'way, I don't want no stragglers here," she 
 cried, as one having authority. 
 
 Leaning upon the fence, Dan placidly regarded 
 her. 
 
 " My dear madam, you commit an error of judg- 
 ment," he replied, pausing to argue. 
 
 With the cow's udder in her hand the woman 
 looked up from the streaming milk. 
 
 "Well, ain't you stragglers?" she inquired. 
 
 Dan shook his head reproachfully. 
 
 " What air you, then ? " 
 
 " Beggars, madam." 
 
 " I might ha' knowed it ! " returned the woman, 
 with a snort. " Well, whatever you air, you kin jest 
 as eas'ly keep on along that thar road. I ain't got 
 nothing on this place for you. Some of you broke 
 
 405 
 
 Fiction, Vol. is — 18 
 
406 The Battle-Ground 
 
 into my smokehouse night befo' last an' stole all 
 the spar' ribs I'd been savin'. Was you the ones ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " Oh, you're all alike," protested the woman, 
 scornfully, " an' a bigger set o' rascals I never 
 seed." 
 
 " Huh ! Who's a rascal ? " exclaimed Big Abel, 
 angrily. 
 
 " This is the reward of doing your duty, Big 
 Abel," remarked Dan, gravely. " Never do it again, 
 remember. The next time Virginia is invaded we'll 
 sit by the fire and warm our feet. Good morning, 
 madam." 
 
 " Why ain't you with the army ? " inquired the 
 woman sharply, slapping the cow upon the side as 
 she rose from her seat and took up the milk pail. 
 " An officer rode by this morning an' he told me 
 part of the army was campin' ten miles across on 
 the other road." 
 
 " Did he say whose division ? " 
 
 " Oh, I reckon you kin fight as well under one 
 general as another, so long as you've got a mind to 
 fight at all. You jest follow this lane about three 
 miles and then keep straight along the turnpike. If 
 you do that I reckon you'll git yo' deserts befo' sun- 
 down." She came over to the fence and stood fixing 
 them with hard, bright eyes. " My ! You do look 
 used up," she admitted after a moment. " You'd 
 better come in an' git a glass of this milk befo' you 
 move on. Jest go roun' to the gate and I'll meet you 
 at the po'ch. The dog won't bite you if you don't 
 touch nothin'." 
 
 " All right, go ahead and hide the spoons," called 
 
The Cabin in the Woods 407 
 
 Dan, as he swung open the gate and went up a little 
 path bordered by prince's feathers. 
 
 The woman met them at the porch and led them 
 into a clean kitchen, where Dan sat down at the 
 table and Big Abel stationed himself behind his 
 chair. 
 
 " Drink a glass of that milk the first thing," she 
 said, bustling heavily about the room, and brow- 
 beating them into submissive silence, while she 
 mixed the biscuits and broke the eggs into a frying- 
 pan greased with bacon gravy. Plump, hearty, with 
 a full double chin and cheeks like winter apples, she 
 moved briskly from the wooden safe to the slow fire, 
 which she stirred with determined gestures. 
 
 " It's time this war had stopped, anyhow," she 
 remarked as she slapped the eggs up into the air and 
 back again into the pan. " An' if General Lee ever 
 rides along this way I mean to tell him that he ought 
 to have one good battle an' be done with it. Thar's 
 no use piddlin' along like this twil we're all worn 
 out and thar ain't a corn-field pea left in Virginny. 
 Look here (to Big Abel), you set right down on 
 that do' step an' I'll give you something along with 
 yo' marster. It's a good thing I happened to look 
 under the cow trough yestiddy or thar wouldn't have 
 been an egg left in this house. That's right, turn 
 right in an' eat hearty — don't mince with me." 
 Big Abel, cowed by her energetic manner, seated 
 himself upon the door step, and for a half-hour the 
 woman ceaselessly plied them with hot biscuits and 
 coffee made from sweet potatoes. 
 
 " You mustn't think I mind doing for the sol- 
 diers," she said when they took their leave a little 
 
408 The Battle- Ground 
 
 later, " but I've a husban' with General Lee and I 
 can't bear to see able-bodied men stragglin' about 
 the country. No, don't give me nothin' — it ain't 
 worth it. Lord, don't I know that you don't git 
 enough to buy a bag of flour." Then she pointed 
 out the way again and they set off with a well-filled 
 paper of luncheon. 
 
 " Beware of hasty judgments, Big Abel," advised 
 Dan, as they strolled along the road. " Now that 
 woman there — she's the right sort, though she 
 rather took my breath away." 
 
 " She 'uz downright ficy at fu'st," replied Big 
 Abel, " but I d'clar dose eggs des melted in my 
 mouf like butter. Whew! don't I wish I had dat 
 ole speckled hen f'om home. I could hev toted her 
 unner my arm thoo dis wah des es well es not." 
 
 The sun was well overhead, and across the land- 
 scape the heavy dew was lifted like a veil. Here 
 and there the autumn foliage tinted the woods in 
 splashes of red and yellow ; and beyond the low 
 stone wall an old sheep pasture was ablaze in golden- 
 rod. From a pointed aspen beside the road a wild 
 grapevine let down a fringe of purple clusters, but 
 Big Abel, with a full stomach, passed them by in- 
 differently. A huge buzzard, rising suddenly from 
 the pasture, sailed slowly across the sky, its heavy 
 shadow skimming the field beneath. As yet the 
 flames of war had not blown over this quiet spot ; in 
 the early morning dew it lay as fresh as the world 
 in its beginning. 
 
 At the end of the lane, when they came out upon 
 the turnpike, they met an old farmer riding a mule 
 home from the market. 
 
The Cabin in the Woods 409 
 
 " Can you tell me if McClellan has crossed the 
 Potomac ? " asked Dan, as he came up with him. 
 " I was in the hospital at Shepherdstown, and I left 
 it for fear of capture. No news has reached me, 
 but I am on my way to rejoin the army." 
 
 " Naw, suh, you might as well have stayed whar 
 you were," responded the old man, eying him with 
 the suspicion which always met a soldier out of 
 ranks. " McClellan didn't do no harm on this side 
 of the river — he jest set up a battery on Douglas 
 hill and scolded General Lee for leaving Maryland 
 so soon. You needn't worry no mo' 'bout the Yan- 
 kees gittin' on this side — thar ain't none of 'em left 
 to come, they're all dead. Why, General Lee cut 
 'em all up into little pieces, that's what he did. 
 Hooray! it was jest like Bible times come back 
 agin." 
 
 Then, as Dan moved on, the farmer raised 
 himself in his stirrups and called loudly after him. 
 " Keep to the Scriptures, young man, and remem- 
 ber Joshua, Smite them hip an' thigh, as the Bible 
 says." 
 
 All day in the bright sunshine they crept slowly 
 onward, halting at brief intervals to rest in the 
 short grass by the roadside, and stopping to ask 
 information of the countrymen or stragglers whom 
 they met. At last in the red glow of the sunset they 
 entered a strip of thin woodland, and found an old 
 negro gathering resinous knots from the bodies of 
 fallen pines. 
 
 " Bless de Lawd ! " he exclaimed as he faced 
 them. " Is you done come fer de sick sodger at my 
 cabin?" 
 
41 o The Battle-Ground 
 
 " A sick soldier ? Why, we are all sick soldiers," 
 answered Dan. " Where did he come from ? " The 
 old man shook his head, as he placed his heavy split 
 basket on the ground at his feet. 
 
 " I dunno, marster, he ain' come, he des drapped. 
 'Twuz yestiddy en I 'nz out hyer pickin' up dis yer 
 lightwood des like I is doin' dis minute, w'en I 
 heah ' a-bookerty ! bookerty ! bookerty ! ' out dar 
 in de road 'en a w'ite hoss tu'n right inter de woods 
 wid a sick sodger a-hangin' ter de saddle. Yes, suh, 
 *le hoss he come right in des like he knowed me, en 
 w'en I helt out my han' he poke his nose spang inter 
 it en w'innied like he moughty glad ter see me — 
 -en he wuz, too, dat's sho'. Well, I ketch holt er his 
 bridle en lead 'im thoo de woods up ter my do' whar 
 he tu'n right in en begin ter nibble in de patch er 
 kebbage. All dis time I 'uz 'lowin' dat de sodger 
 wuz stone dead, but w'en I took 'im down he opened 
 his eyes en axed fur water. Den I gun 'im a drink 
 outer de goa'd en laid 'im flat on my bed, en in a 
 little w'ile a nigger come by dat sez he b'longed ter 
 'im, but befo' day de nigger gone agin en de hoss he 
 gone, too." 
 
 " Well, we'll see about him, uncle, go ahead," 
 said Dan, and as the old negro went up the path 
 among the trees, he followed closely on his foot- 
 steps. When they had gone a little way the woods 
 opened suddenly and they came upon a small log 
 cabin, with a yellow dog lying before the door. The 
 dog barked shrilly as they approached, and a voice 
 from the dim room beyond called out : — 
 
 " Hosea ! Are you back so soon, Hosea ? " 
 
 At the words Dan stopped as if struck by light- 
 
The Cabin in the Woods 411 
 
 ning, midway of the vegetable garden ; then break- 
 ing from Big Abel, he ran forward and into the little 
 cabin. 
 
 " Is the hurt bad, Governor ? " he asked in a 
 trembling voice. 
 
 The Governor smiled and held out a steady hand 
 above the ragged patchwork quilt. His neat gray 
 coat lay over him and as Dan caught the glitter 
 and the collar he remembered the promotion after 
 Seven Pines. 
 
 " Let me help you, General," he implored. 
 " What is it that we can do ? " 
 
 " I have come to the end, my boy," replied the 
 Governor, his rich voice unshaken. " I have seen 
 men struck like this before and I have lived twelve 
 hours longer than the strongest of them. When I 
 could go no farther I sent Hosea ahead to make 
 things ready — and now I am keeping alive to hear 
 from home. Give me water." 
 
 Dan held the glass to his lips, and looking up, the 
 Governor thanked him with his old warm glance 
 that was so like Betty's. " There are some things 
 that are worth fighting for," said the older man as 
 he fell back, " and the sight of home is one of them. 
 It was a hard ride, but every stab of pain carried me 
 nearer to Uplands — and there are poor fellows 
 who endure worse things and yet die in a strange 
 land among strangers." He was silent a moment 
 and then spoke slowly, smiling a little sadly. 
 
 " My memory has failed me," he said, " and when 
 I lay here last night and tried to recall the look of 
 the lawn at home, I couldn't remember — I couldn't 
 remember. Are there elms or maples at the front, 
 Dan?" 
 
412 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " Maples, sir," replied Dan, with the deference of 
 a boy. " The long walk bordered by lilacs goes up 
 from the road to the portico with the Doric columns 
 — you remember that ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, go on." 
 
 " The maples have grown thick upon the lawn 
 and close beside the house there is the mimosa tree 
 that your father set out on his twenty-first birth- 
 day." 
 
 " The branches touch the library window. I had 
 them trimmed last year that the shutters might swing 
 back. What time is it, Dan ? " 
 
 Dan turned to the door. 
 
 " What time is it, Big Abel ? " he called to the 
 negro outside. 
 
 " Hit's goin' on eight o'clock, suh," replied Big 
 Abel, staring at the west. " De little star he shoots 
 up moughty near eight, en dar he is a-comin'." 
 
 " Hosea is there by now," said the Governor, turn- 
 ing his head on a pillow of pine needles. " He 
 started this morning, and I told him to change 
 horses upon the road and eat in the saddle. Yes, he 
 is there by now and Julia is on the way. Am I 
 growing weaker, do you think? There is a little 
 brandy on the chair, give me a few drops — we must 
 make it last all night." 
 
 After taking the brandy he slept a little, and 
 awaking quietly, looked at Dan with dazed eyes. 
 
 " Who is it ? " he asked, stretching out his hand. 
 " Why, I thought Dick Wythe was dead." 
 
 Dan bent over him, smoothing the hair from his 
 brow with hands that were gentle as a woman's. 
 
 " Surely you haven't forgotten me," he said. 
 
The Cabin in the Woods 413 
 
 " No — no, I remember, but it is dark, too dark. 
 Why doesn't Shadrach bring the candles ? And we 
 might as well have a blaze in the fireplace to-night. 
 It has grown chilly; there'll be a white frost be- 
 fore morning." 
 
 There was a basket of resinous pine beside the 
 hearth, and Dan kindled a fire from a handful of 
 rich knots. As the flames shot up, the rough little 
 cabin grew more cheerful, and the Governor laughed 
 softly lying on his pallet. 
 
 " Why, I thought you were Dick Wythe, my boy," 
 he said. " The light was so dim I couldn't see, and, 
 after all, it was no great harm, for there was not a 
 handsomer man in the state than my friend Dick — 
 the ladies used to call him ' Apollo Unarmed,' you 
 know. Ah, I was jealous enough of Dick in my 
 day, though he never knew it. He rather took 
 Julia's fancy when I first began courting her, and, 
 for a time, he pretended to reform and refused to 
 touch a drop even at the table. I've seen him sit 
 for hours, too, in Julia's Bible class of little negroes, 
 with his eyes positively glued on her face while 
 she read the hymns aloud. Yes, he was over head 
 and ears in love with her, there's no doubt of that — 
 though she has always denied it — and, I dare say, 
 he would have been a much better man if she had 
 married him, and I a much worse one. Somehow, I 
 can't help feeling that it wasn't quite just, and that 
 I ought to square up things with Dick at Judgment 
 Day. I shouldn't like to reap any good from his 
 mistakes, poor fellow." He broke off for an instant, 
 lay gazing at the lightwood blaze, and then took up 
 the thread. " He had his fall at last, and it's been 
 
414 The Battle-Ground 
 
 on my conscience ever since that I didn't toss that 
 bowl of apple toddy through the window when I 
 saw him going towards it. We were at Chericoke 
 on Christmas Eve in a big snowstorm, and Dick 
 couldn't resist his glass — he never could so long 
 as there was a drop at the bottom of it — the more 
 he drank, the thirstier he got, he used to say. Well, 
 he took a good deal, more than he could stand, and 
 when the Major began toasting the ladies and called 
 them the prettiest things God ever made, Dick flew 
 into a rage and tried to fight him. ' There are two 
 prettier sights than any woman that ever wore pet- 
 ticoats,' he thundered ; • and (here he ripped out an 
 oath) I'll prove it to you at the sword's point before 
 sunrise. God made but one thing, sir, prettier than 
 the cobwebs on a bottle of wine, and that's the bottle 
 of wine without the cobwebs ! ' Then he went at 
 the Major, and we had to hold him back and rub 
 snow on his temples. That night I drove home with 
 Julia, and she accepted me before we passed the wild 
 cherry tree on the way to Uplands." 
 
 As he fell silent the old negro, treading softly, 
 came into the room and made the preparations for his 
 simple supper, which he carried outside beneath the 
 trees. In a little bared place amid charred wood, a 
 fire was started, and Dan watched through the open 
 doorway the stooping figures of the two negroes as 
 they bent beside the flames. In a little while Big 
 Abel came into the room and beckoned him, but he 
 shook his head impatiently and turned away, sick- 
 ened by the thought of food. 
 
 " Go, my boy," said the Governor, as if he had 
 seen it through closed eyes. " I never saw a private 
 
The Cabin in the Woods 415 
 
 yet that wasn't hungry — one told me last week 
 that his diet for a year had varied only three times 
 — blackberries, chinquapins, and persimmons had 
 kept him alive, he said." 
 
 Then his mind wandered again, and he talked in 
 a low voice of the wheat fields at Uplands and of 
 the cradles swinging all day in the sunshine. Dan, 
 moving to the door, stared, with, aching eyes, at the 
 rich twilight which crept like purple mist among the 
 trees. The very quiet of the scene grated as a dis- 
 cord upon his mood, and he would have welcomed 
 with a feeling of relief any violent manifestation of 
 the savagery of nature. A storm, an earthquake, 
 even the thunder of battle he felt would be less 
 tragic than just this pleasant evening with the se- 
 rene moon rising above the hills. 
 
 Turning back into the room, he drew a split- 
 bottomed chair beside the hearth, and began his 
 patient watch until the daybreak. Under the patch- 
 work quilt the Governor lay motionless, dead from 
 the waist down, only the desire in his eyes struggling 
 to keep the spirit to the clay. Big Abel and the old 
 negro made themselves a bed beneath the trees, and 
 as they raked the dried leaves together the mourn- 
 ful rustling filled the little cabin. Then they lay 
 down, the yellow dog beside them, and gradually 
 the silence of the night closed in. 
 
 After midnight, Dan, who had dozed in his chair 
 from weariness, was awakened by the excited tones 
 of the Governor's voice. The desire was vanquished 
 at last and the dying man had gone back in delirium 
 to the battle he had fought beyond the river. On 
 the hearth the resinous pine still blazed and from 
 
4*6 The Battle-Ground 
 
 somewhere among the stones came the short chirp 
 of a cricket. 
 
 " Oh, it's nothing — a mere scratch. Lay me 
 beneath that tree, and tell Barnes to support D. H. 
 Hill at the sunken road. Richardson is charging 
 us across the ploughed ground and we are fighting 
 from behind the stacked fence rails. Ah, they ad- 
 vance well, those Federals — not a man out of line, 
 and their fire has cut the corn down as with a sickle. 
 If Richardson keeps this up, he will sweep us from 
 the wood and beyond the slope. No, don't take me 
 to the hospital. Please God, I'll die upon the field 
 and hear the cannon at the end. Look! they are 
 charging again, but we still hold our ground. What, 
 Longstreet giving way? They are forcing him 
 from the ridge — the enemy hold it now ! Ah, 
 well, there is A. P. Hill to give the counter 
 stroke. If he falls upon their flank, the day is — " 
 
 His voice ceased, and Dan, crossing the room, 
 gave him brandy from the glass upon the chair. The 
 silence had grown suddenly oppressive, and as the 
 young man went back to his seat, he saw a little 
 mouse gliding like a shadow across the floor. 
 Startled by his footsteps, it hesitated an instant in 
 the centre of the room, and then darted along the 
 wall and disappeared between the loose logs in the 
 corner. Often during the night it crept out from its 
 hiding place, and at last Dan grew to look for it 
 with a certain wistful comfort in its shy companion- 
 ship. 
 
 Gradually the stars went out above the dim woods, 
 and the dawn whitened along the eastern sky. With 
 the first light Dan went to the open door and drew 
 
The Cabin in the Woods 417 
 
 a deep breath of the refreshing air. A new day was 
 coming, but he met it with dulled eyes and a crippled 
 will. The tragedy of life seemed to overhang the 
 pleasant prospect upon which he looked, and, as he 
 stood there, he saw in his vision of the future only 
 an endless warfare and a wasted land. With a start 
 he turned, for the Governor was speaking in a voice 
 that filled the cabin and rang out into the woods. 
 
 " Skirmishers, forward ! Second the battalion of 
 direction ! Battalions, forward ! " 
 
 He had risen upon his pallet and was pointing 
 straight at the open door, but when, with a single 
 stride, Dan reached him, he was already dead. 
 
IV 
 
 IN THE SILENCE OF THE GUNS 
 
 At noon the next day, Dan, sitting beside the fire^ 
 less hearth, with his head resting on his clasped 
 hands, saw a shadow fall suddenly upon the floor, 
 and, looking up, found Mrs. Ambler standing in the 
 doorway. 
 
 " I am too late? " she said quietly, and he bowed 
 his head and motioned to the pallet in the corner. 
 
 Without seeing the arm he put out, she crossed 
 the room like one bewildered by a sudden blow, 
 and went to where the Governor was lying be- 
 neath the patchwork quilt. No sound came to her 
 lips ; she only stretched out her hand with a pro- 
 tecting gesture and drew the dead man to her arms. 
 Then it was that Dan, turning to leave her alone 
 with her grief, saw that Betty had followed her 
 mother and was coming toward him from the door- 
 way. For an instant their eyes met ; then the girl 
 went to her dead, and Dan passed out into the sun- 
 light with a new bitterness at his heart. 
 
 A dozen yards from the cabin there was a golden 
 beech spreading in wide branches against the sky, 
 and seating himself on a fallen log beneath it, he 
 looked over the soft hills that rose round and deep- 
 bosomed from the dim blue valley. He was still 
 there an hour later when, hearing a rustle in the 
 
 418 
 
In the Silence of the Guns 419 
 
 grass, he turned and saw Betty coming to him over 
 the yellowed leaves. His first glance showed him 
 that she had grown older and very pale; his second 
 that her kind brown eyes were full of tears. 
 
 "Betty, is it this way?" he asked, and opened 
 his arms. 
 
 With a cry that was half a sob she ran toward 
 him, her black skirt sweeping the leaves about her 
 feet. Then, as she reached him, she swayed for- 
 ward as if a strong wind blew over her, and as he 
 caught her from the ground, he kissed her lips. Her 
 tears broke out afresh, but as they stood there in 
 each other's arms, neither found words to speak 
 nor voice to utter them. The silence between them 
 had gone deeper than speech, for it had in it all the 
 dumb longing of the last two years — the unshaken 
 trust, the bitterness of the long separation, the griefs 
 that had come to them apart, and the sorrow that 
 had brought them at last together. He held her 
 so closely that he felt the flutter of her breast with 
 each rising sob, and an anguish that was but a 
 vibration from her own swept over him like a wave 
 from head to foot. Since he had put her from him 
 on that last night at Chericoke their passion had 
 deepened by each throb of pain and broadened by 
 each step that had led them closer to the common 
 world. Not one generous thought, not one tempta- 
 tion overcome but had gone to the making of their 
 love to-day — for what united them now was not 
 the mere prompting of young impulse, but the 
 strength out of many struggles and the fulness 
 out of experiences that had ripened the heart of 
 each. 
 
420 The Battle- Ground 
 
 " Let me look at you," said Betty, lifting her 
 wet face. " It has been so long, and I have wanted 
 you so much — I have hungered sleeping and wak- 
 ing. 
 
 " Don't look at me, Betty, I am a skeleton — a 
 crippled skeleton, and I will not be looked at by my 
 love." 
 
 " Your love can see you with shut eyes. Oh, my 
 best and dearest, do you think you could keep me 
 from seeing you however hard you tried? Why, 
 there's a lamp in my heart that lets me look at 
 you even in the night." 
 
 " Your lamp flatters, I am afraid to face it. Has 
 it shown you this ? " 
 
 He drew back and held up his maimed hand, his 
 eyes fastened upon her face, where the old fervour 
 had returned. 
 
 With a sob that thrilled through him, she caught 
 his hand to her lips and then held it to her bosom, 
 crooning over it little broken sounds of love and 
 pity. Through the spreading beech above a clear 
 gold light filtered down upon her, and a single 
 yellow leaf was caught in her loosened hair. He 
 saw her face, impassioned, glorified, amid a flood 
 of sunshine. 
 
 " And I did not know," she said breathlessly. 
 " You were wounded and there was no one to tell 
 me. Whenever there has been a battle I have sat 
 very still and shut my eyes, and tried to make my- 
 self go straight to you. I have seen the smoke and 
 heard the shots, and yet when it came I did not 
 know it. I may even have laughed and talked and 
 eaten a stupid dinner while you were suffering. 
 
In the Silence of the Guns 421 
 
 Now I shall never smile again until I have you 
 safe." 
 
 " But if I were dying I should want to see 
 you smiling. Nobody ever smiled before you, 
 Betty." 
 
 "If you are wounded, you will send for me. 
 Promise me; I beg you on my knees. You will 
 send for me; say it or I shall be always wretched. 
 Do you want to kill me, Dan? Promise." 
 
 " I shall send for you. There, will that do ? It 
 would be almost worth dying to have you come to 
 me. Would you kiss me then, I wonder?" 
 
 " Then and now," she answered passionately. 
 " Oh, I sometimes think that wars are fought to 
 torture women ! Hold me in your arms again or 
 my heart will break. I have missed Virginia so — 
 never a day passes that I do not see her coming 
 through the rooms and hear her laugh — such a 
 baby laugh, do you remember it ? " 
 
 " I remember everything that was near to you, 
 beloved." 
 
 " If you could have seen her on her wedding day, 
 when she came down in her pink crepe shawl and 
 white bonnet that I had trimmed, and looked back, 
 smiling at us for the last time. I have almost died 
 with wanting her again — and now papa — papa ! 
 They loved life so, and yet both are dead, and life 
 goes on without them." 
 
 " My poor love, poor Betty." 
 
 " But not so poor as if I had lost you, too," she 
 answered ; " and if you are wounded even a little 
 remember that you have promised, and I shall come 
 to you. Prince Rupert and I will pass the lines 
 
422 The Battle-Ground 
 
 together. Do you know that I have Prince Rupert, 
 Dan ? " 
 
 " Keep him, dear, don't let him get into the 
 army." 
 
 " He lives in the woods night and day, and when 
 he comes to pasture I go after him while Uncle 
 Shadrach watches the turnpike. When the soldiers 
 come by, blue or gray, we hide him behind the 
 willows in the brook. They may take the chickens 
 — and they do — but I should kill the man who 
 touched Prince Rupert's bridle." 
 
 " You should have been a soldier, Betty." 
 
 She shook her head. " Oh, I couldn't shoot any 
 one in cold blood — as you do — that's different. 
 I'd have to hate him as much — as much as I love 
 you." 
 
 " How much is that ? " 
 
 " A whole world full and brimming over ; is that 
 enough ? " 
 
 "Only a little world?" he answered. "Is that 
 all?" 
 
 " If I told you truly, you would not believe me," 
 she said earnestly. " You would shake your head 
 and say : ' Poor silly Betty, has she gone moon 
 mad?'" 
 
 Catching her in his arms again, he kissed her 
 hair and mouth and Hands and the ruffle at her 
 throat. " Poor silly Betty," he repeated, " where 
 is your wisdom now ? " 
 
 " You have turned it into folly, sad little wis- 
 dom that it was." 
 
 " Well, I prefer your folly," he said gravely. " It 
 was folly that made you love me at the first ; it was 
 
In the Silence of the Guns 423 
 
 pure folly that brought you out to me that night at 
 Chericoke — but the greatest folly of all is just 
 this, my dear." 
 
 " But it will keep you safe." 
 
 " Who knows ? I may get shot to-morrow. 
 There, there, I only said it to feel your arms about 
 me." 
 
 Her hands clung to him and the tears, rising to 
 her lashes, fell fast upon his coat. 
 
 " Oh, don't let me lose you," she begged. " I 
 have lost so much — don't let me lose you, too." 
 
 " Living or dead, I am yours, that I swear." 
 
 " But I don't want you dead. I want the feel of 
 you. I want your hands, your face. I want you." 
 
 " Betty, Betty," he said softly. " Listen, for there 
 is no word in the world that means so much as 
 just your name." 
 
 " Except yours." 
 
 " No interruptions, this is martial law. Dear, 
 dearest, darling, are all empty sounds ; but when I 
 say ' Betty,' it is full of life." 
 
 " Say it again, then." 
 
 " Betty, do you love me? " 
 
 " Ask : ' Betty, is the sun shining? ' " 
 
 " It always shines about you." 
 
 " Because my hair is red?" 
 
 " Red? It is pure gold. Do you remember when 
 I found that out on the hearth in free Levi's cabin ? 
 The colour went to my head, but when I put out 
 my hand to touch a curl, you drew away and fas- 
 tened them up again. Now I have pulled them all 
 down and you dare not move." 
 
 " Shall I tell you why I drew away ? " 
 
424 The Battle-Ground 
 
 The tears were still on her lashes, but in the ex« 
 altation of a great passion, life, death, the grave, 
 and things beyond had dwindled like stars before 
 the rising sun. 
 
 " You told me then — because I was - a pampered 
 poodle dog.' Well, I've outgrown that objection 
 certainly. Let us hope you have a fancy for lean 
 hounds." 
 
 She put up her hands in protest. 
 
 " I drew away partly because I knew you did not 
 love me," she said, meeting his eyes with her clear 
 and ardent gaze, " but more because — I knew that 
 I loved you." 
 
 " You loved me then ? Oh, Betty, if I had only 
 known ! " 
 
 " If you had known ! " She covered her face. 
 " Oh, it was terrible enough as it was. I wanted 
 to beat myself for shame." 
 
 " Shame? In loving me, my darling? " 
 
 " In loving you like that." 
 
 " Nonsense. If you had only said to me : ' My 
 good sir, I love you a little bit,' I should have come 
 to my senses on the spot. Even pampered poodle 
 dogs are not all fat, Betty, and, as it was, I did 
 come to the years of discretion that very night. I 
 didn't sleep a wink." 
 
 " Nor I." 
 
 " I walked the floor till daybreak." 
 
 " And I sat by the window." 
 
 " I hurled every hard name at myself that I could 
 think of. ' Dolt and idiot ' seemed to stick. By 
 George, I can't get over it. To think that I might 
 have galloped down that turnpike and swept you 
 
In the Silence of the Guns 425 
 
 off your feet. You wouldn't have withstood me, 
 Betty, you couldn't." 
 
 " Yet I did," she said, smiling sadly. 
 
 " Oh, I didn't have a fair chance, you see." 
 
 " Perhaps not," she answered, " though some- 
 times I was afraid you would hear my heart beat- 
 ing and know it all. Do you remember that morn- 
 ing in the garden with the roses ? — I wouldn't kiss 
 you good-by, but if you had done it against my 
 will I'd have broken down. After you had gone 
 I kissed the grass where you had stood." 
 
 " My God ! I can't leave you, Betty." 
 
 She met his passionate gaze with steady eyes. 
 
 " If you were not to go I should never have told 
 you," she answered ; " but if you die in battle you 
 must remember it at the last." 
 
 " It seems an awful waste of opportunities," he 
 said, " but I'll make it up on the day that I come 
 back a Major-general. Then I shall say ' forward, 
 madam,' and you'll marry me on the spot." 
 
 " Don't be too sure. I may grow coy again when 
 the war is over." 
 
 " When you do I'll find the remedy — for I'll 
 be a Major-general, then, and you a private. This 
 war must make me, dear. I shan't stay in the ranks 
 much longer." 
 
 " I like you there — it is so brave," she said. 
 
 " But you'll like me anywhere, and I prefer the 
 top — the very top. Oh, my love, we'll wring our 
 happiness from the world before we die ! " 
 
 With a shiver she came back to the earth. 
 
 " I had almost forgotten him," she said in keen 
 self-reproach, and went quickly over the rustling 
 
426 The Battle-Ground 
 
 leaves to the cabin door. As Dan followed her the 
 day seemed to grow suddenly darker to his eyes. 
 
 On the threshold he met Mrs. Ambler, composed 
 and tearless, wearing her grief as a veil that hid her 
 from the outside world. Before her calm gray eyes 
 he fell back with an emotion not unmixed with awe. 
 
 " I did the best I could," he said bluntly, " but it 
 was nothing." 
 
 She thanked him quietly, asking a few questions 
 in her grave and gentle voice. Was he conscious 
 to the end? Did he talk of home? Had he ex- 
 pressed any wishes of which she was not aware? 
 
 " They are bringing him to the wagon now," 
 she finished steadily. " No, do not go in — you are 
 very weak and your strength must be saved to hold 
 your musket. Shadrach and Big Abel will carry 
 him, I prefer it to be so. We left the wagon at the 
 end of the path ; it is a long ride home, but we 
 have arranged to change horses, and we shall reach 
 Uplands, I hope, by sunrise." 
 
 " I wish to God I could go with you ! " he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Your place is with the army," she answered. 
 " I have no son to send, so you must go in his 
 stead. He would have it this way if he could 
 choose." 
 
 For a moment she was silent, and he looked at 
 her placid face and the smooth folds of her black 
 silk with a wonder that checked his words. 
 
 " Some one said of him once," she added pres- 
 ently, " that he was a man who always took his 
 duty as if it were a pleasure; and it was true — 
 so true. I alone saw how hard this was for him, 
 
In the Silence of the Guns 427 
 
 for he hated war as heartily as he dreaded deatli. 
 Yet when both came he met them squarely and 
 without looking back." 
 
 " He died as he had lived, the truest gentleman 
 I have ever known," he said. 
 
 A pleased smile hovered for an instant on her 
 lips. 
 
 " He fought hard against secession until it came," 
 she pursued quietly, " for he loved the Union, and 
 he had given it the best years of his life — his 
 strong years, he used to say. I think if he ever felt 
 any bitterness toward any one, it was for the man 
 or men who brought us into this ; and at last he 
 used to leave the room because he could not speak 
 of them without anger. He threw all his strength 
 against the tide, yet, when it rushed on in spite 
 of him, he knew where his duty guided him, and 
 he followed it, as always, like a pleasure. You 
 thought him sanguine, I suppose, but he never was 
 so — in his heart, though the rest of us think differ- 
 ently, he always felt that he was fighting for a 
 hopeless cause, and he loved it the more for very 
 pity of its weakness. ' It is the spirit and not the 
 bayonet that makes history,' he used to say." 
 
 Heavy steps crossed the cabin floor, and Uncle 
 Shadrach and Big Abel came out bringing the dead 
 man between them. With her hand on the gray 
 coat, Mrs. Ambler walked steadily as she leaned on 
 Betty's shoulder. Once or twice she noticed rocks 
 in the way, and cautioned the negroes to go care- 
 fully down the descending grade. The bright 
 leaves drifted upon them, and through the thin 
 woods, along the falling path, over the lacework 
 
428 The Battle-Ground 
 
 of lights and shadows, they went slowly out into the 
 road where Hosea was waiting with the open wagon. 
 
 The Governor was laid upon the straw that filled 
 the bottom, Mrs. Ambler sat down beside him, and 
 as Betty followed, Uncle Shadrach climbed upon the 
 seat above the wheel. 
 
 " Good-by, my boy," said Mrs. Ambler, giving 
 him her hand. 
 
 " Good-by, my soldier," said Betty, taking both 
 of his. Then Hosea cracked the whip and the 
 wagon rolled out into the road, scattering the gray 
 dust high into the sunlight. 
 
 Dan, standing alone against the pines, looked 
 after it with a gnawing hunger at his heart, seeing 
 first Betty's eyes, next the gleam of her hair, then 
 the dim figures fading into the straw, and at last 
 the wagon caught up in a cloud of dust. Down 
 the curving road, round a green knoll, across a 
 little stream, and into the blue valley it passed as a 
 speck upon the landscape. Then the distance closed 
 over it, the sand settled in the road, and the blank 
 purple hills crowded against the sky. 
 
THE PLACE THEREOF 
 
 In the full beams of the sun the wagon turned 
 into the drive between the lilacs and drew up be- 
 fore the Doric columns. Mr. Bill and the two old 
 ladies came out upon the portico, and the Governor 
 was lifted down by Uncle Shadrach and Hosea 
 and laid upon the high tester bed in the room be- 
 hind the parlour. 
 
 As Betty entered the hall, the familiar sights of 
 every day struck her eyes with the smart of a phys- 
 ical blow. The excitement of the shock had passed 
 from her; there was no longer need to tighten the 
 nervous strain, and henceforth she must face her 
 grief where the struggle is always hardest — in the 
 place where each trivial object is attended by 
 pleasant memories. While there was something for 
 her hands to do — or the danger of delay in the long 
 watch upon the road — it had not been so hard to 
 brace her strength against necessity, but here — 
 what was there left that she must bring herself to 
 endure? The torturing round of daily things, the 
 quiet house in which to cherish new regrets, and out- 
 side the autumn sunshine on the long white turn- 
 pike. The old waiting grown sadder, was begun 
 again ; she must put out her hands to take up life 
 where it had stopped, go up and down the shining 
 
 429 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 19 
 
430 The Battle- Ground 
 
 staircase and through the unchanged rooms, while 
 her ears were always straining for the sound of 
 the cannon, or the beat of a horse's hoofs upon the 
 road. 
 
 The brick wall around the little graveyard was 
 torn down in one corner, and, while the afternoon 
 sun slanted between the aspens, the Governor was 
 laid away in the open grave beneath rank periwinkle. 
 There was no minister to read the service, but as 
 the clods of earth fell on the coffin, Mrs. Ambler 
 opened her prayer book and Betty, kneeling upon 
 the ground, heard the low words with her eyes on 
 the distant mountains. Overhead the aspens stirred 
 beneath a passing breeze, and a few withered 
 leaves drifted slowly down. Aunt Lydia wept 
 softly, and the servants broke into a subdued 
 wailing, but Mrs. Ambler's gentle voice did not 
 falter. 
 
 " He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower ; 
 he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth 
 in one stay." 
 
 She read on quietly in the midst of the weeping 
 slaves, who had closed about her. Then, at the 
 last words, her hands dropped to her sides, and 
 she drew back while Uncle Shadrach shovelled in 
 the clay. 
 
 " It is but a span," she repeated, looking out into 
 the sunshine, with a light that was almost unearthly 
 upon her face. 
 
 " Come away, mamma," said Betty, holding out 
 her arms ; and when the last spray of life-everlast- 
 ing was placed upon the finished mound, they went 
 out by the hollow in the wall, turning from time to 
 
"The Place Thereof" 431 
 
 time to look back at the gray aspens. Down the 
 little hill, through the orchard, and across the mead- 
 ows filled with waving golden-rod, the procession 
 of white and black filed slowly homeward. When 
 the lawn was reached each went to his accustomed 
 task, and Aunt Lydia to her garden. 
 
 An hour later the Major rode over in response 
 to a message which had just reached him. 
 
 " I was in town all the morning," he explained 
 in a trembling voice, " and I didn't get the news 
 until a half hour ago. The saddest day of my life, 
 madam, is the one upon which I learn that I have 
 outlived him." 
 
 " He loved you, Major," said Mrs. Ambler, meet- 
 ing his swimming eyes. 
 
 " Loved me ! " repeated the old man, quivering 
 in his chair, " I tell you, madam, I would rather 
 have been Peyton Ambler's friend than President 
 of the Confederacy ! Do you remember the time 
 he gave me his last keg of brandy and went without 
 for a month ? " 
 
 She nodded, smiling, and the Major, with red 
 eyes and shaking hands, wandered into endless rem- 
 iniscences of the long friendship. To Betty these 
 trivial anecdotes were only a fresh torture, but Mrs. 
 Ambler followed them eagerly, comparing her recol- 
 lections with the Major's, and repeating in a low 
 voice to herself characteristic stories which she had 
 not heard before. 
 
 " I remember that — we had been married six 
 months then," she would say, with the unearthly 
 light upon her face. " It is almost like living again 
 to hear you, Major." 
 
432 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " Well, madam, life is a sad affair, but it is the 
 best we've got," responded the old gentleman, 
 gravely. 
 
 " He loved it," returned Mrs. Ambler, and as 
 the Major rose to go, she followed him into the 
 hall and inquired if Mrs. Lightfoot had been suc- 
 cessful with her weaving. " She told me that she 
 intended to have her old looms set up again," she 
 added, " and I think that I shall follow her ex- 
 ample. Between us we might clothe a regiment of 
 soldiers." 
 
 " She has had the servants brushing off the cob- 
 webs for a week," replied the Major, " and to-day 
 I actually found Car'line at a spinning wheel on 
 the back flagstones. There's not the faintest doubt 
 in my mind that if Molly had been placed in the 
 Commissary department our soldiers would be liv- 
 ing to-day on the fat of the land. She has knitted 
 thirty pairs of socks since spring. Good-by, my 
 dear lady, good-by, and may God sustain you in 
 your double affliction." 
 
 He crossed the portico, bowed as he descended 
 the steps, and, mounting in the drive, rode slowly 
 away upon his dappled mare. When he reached 
 the turnpike he lifted his hat again and passed on 
 at an amble. 
 
 During the next few months it seemed to Betty 
 that she aged a year each day. The lines closed 
 and opened round them; troops of blue and gray 
 cavalrymen swept up and down the turnpike; the 
 pastures were invaded by each army in its turn, and 
 the hen-house became the spoil of a regiment of 
 stragglers. Uncle Shadrach had buried the silver 
 
"The Place Thereof" 433 
 
 beneath the floor of his cabin, and Aunt Floretta 
 set her dough to rise each morning under a loose 
 pile of kindling wood. Once a deserter penetrated 
 into Betty's chamber, and the girl drove him out 
 at the point of an old army pistol, which she kept 
 upon her bureau. 
 
 " If you think I am afraid of you come a step 
 nearer," she had said coolly, and the man had 
 turned to run into the arms of a Federal officer, 
 who was sweeping up the stragglers. He was a 
 blue-eyed young Northerner, and for three days 
 after that he had set a guard upon the portico at 
 Uplands. The memory of the small white-faced 
 girl, with her big army pistol and the blazing eyes 
 haunted him from that hour until Appomattox, 
 when he heaved a sigh of relief and dismissed it 
 from his thoughts. " She would have shot the ras- 
 cal in another second," he said afterward, " and, 
 by George, I wish she had." 
 
 The Governor's wine cellar was emptied long 
 ago, the rare old wine flowing from broken casks 
 across the hall. 
 
 " What does it matter? " Mrs. Ambler had asked 
 wearily, watching the red stream drip upon the por- 
 tico. " What is wine when our soldiers are starv- 
 ing for bread? And besides, war lives off the soil, 
 as your father used to say." 
 
 Betty lifted her skirts and stepped over the bright 
 puddles, glancing disdainfully after the Hessian 
 stragglers, who went singing down the drive. 
 
 " I hope their officers will get them," she re- 
 marked vindictively, " and the next time they offer 
 us a guard, I shall accept him for good and all, if 
 
434 The Battle-Ground 
 
 he happens to have been born on American soil. I 
 don't mind Yankees so much — you can usually 
 quiet them with the molasses jug — but these for- 
 eigners are awful. From a Hessian or a renegade 
 Virginian, good Lord deliver us." 
 
 " Some of them have kind hearts," remarked Mrs. 
 Ambler, wonderingly. " I don't see how they can 
 bear to come down to fight us. The Major met 
 General McClellan, you know, and he admitted 
 afterwards that he shouldn't have known from 
 his manner that he was not a Southern gentle- 
 man." 
 
 " Well, I hope he has left us a shoulder of bacon 
 in the smokehouse," replied Betty, laughing. " You 
 haven't eaten a mouthful for two days, mamma." 
 
 " I don't feel that I have a right to eat, my dear," 
 said Mrs. Ambler. " It seems a useless extrava- 
 gance when every little bit helps the army." 
 
 "' Well, I can't support the army, but I mean to 
 feed you," returned Betty decisively, and she went 
 out to ask Hosea if he had found a new hiding 
 place for the cattle. Except upon the rare morn- 
 ings when Mr. Bill left his fishing, the direction 
 of the farm had fallen entirely upon Betty's shoul- 
 ders. Wilson, the overseer, was in the army, and 
 Hosea had gradually risen to take his place. " We 
 must keep things up," the girl had insisted, " don't 
 let us go to rack and ruin — papa would have hated 
 it so," and, with the negro's aid, she had struggled 
 to keep up the common tenor of the old country 
 life. 
 
 Rising at daybreak, she went each morning to 
 overlook the milking of the cows, hidden in their 
 
"The Place Thereof" 435 
 
 retreat among the hills ; and as the sun rose higher, 
 she came back to start the field hands to the plough- 
 ing and the women to the looms in one of the de- 
 tached wings. Then there was the big storehouse 
 to go into, the rations of the servants to be drawn 
 from their secret corners, the meal to be measured, 
 and the bacon to be sliced with the care which 
 fretted her lavish hands. After this there came the 
 shucking of the corn, a negro frolic even in war 
 years, so long as there was any corn to shuck, and 
 lastly the counting of the full bags of grain be- 
 fore the heavy wagon was sent to the little mill 
 beside the river. From sunrise to sunset the girl's 
 hands were not idle for an instant, and in the 
 long evenings, by the light of the home-made tal- 
 low dips, which served for candles, she would draw 
 out a gray yarn stocking and knit busily for the 
 army, while she tried, with an aching heart, to 
 cheer her mother. Her sunny humour had made 
 play of a man's work as of a woman's anxiety. 
 
 Sometimes, on bright mornings, Mr. Bill would 
 stroll over with his rod upon his shoulder and a 
 string of silver perch in his hand. He had grown 
 old and very feeble, and his angling had become 
 a passion mightier than an army with bayonets. 
 He took small interest in the war — at times he 
 seemed almost unconscious of the suffering around 
 him — but he enjoyed his chats with Union officers 
 upon the road, who occasionally capped his stories 
 of big sport with tales of mountain trout which 
 they had drawn from Northern streams. He would 
 sit for hours motionless under the willows by the 
 river, and once when his house was fired, during a 
 
436 The Battle-Ground 
 
 raid up the valley, he was heard to remark regretfully 
 that the messenger had " scared away his first bite 
 in an hour." Placid, wide-girthed, dull-faced, in- 
 nocent as a child, he sat in the midst of war dan* 
 gling his line above the silver perch. 
 
VI 
 
 THE PEACEFUL SIDE OF WAR 
 
 On a sparkling January morning, when Lee's 
 army had gone into winter quarters beside the 
 Rappahannock, Dan stood in the doorway of his 
 log hut smoking the pipe of peace, while he watched 
 a messmate putting up a chimney of notched sticks 
 across the little roadway through the pines. 
 
 " You'd better get Pinetop to daub your chinks 
 for you," he suggested. " He can make a mixture 
 of wet clay and sandstone that you couldn't tell 
 from mortar." 
 
 " You jest wait till I git through these shoes an' 
 I'll show you," remarked Pinetop, from the wood- 
 pile, where he was making moccasins of untanned 
 beef hide laced with strips of willow. " I ain't 
 goin' to set my bar' feet on this frozen groun' agin, 
 if I can help it. 'Tain't so bad in summer, 
 but, I d'clar it takes all the spirit out of a 
 fight when you have to run bar-footed over the 
 icy stubble." 
 
 " Jack Powell lost his shoes in the battle of 
 Fredericksburg," said Baker, as he carefully fitted 
 his notched sticks together. " That's why he got 
 promoted, I reckon. He stepped into a mud 
 puddle, and his feet came out but his shoes 
 didn't." 
 
 437 
 
438 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " Well, I dare say, it was cheaper for the Gov* 
 ernraent to give him a title than a pair of shoes," 
 observed Dan, cynically. " Why, you are going in 
 for luxury! Is that pile of oak shingles for your 
 roof? We made ours of rails covered with pine 
 tags." 
 
 " And the first storm that comes along sweeps 
 them off — yes, I know. By the way, can anybody 
 tell me if there's a farmer with a haystack in these 
 parts ? " 
 
 " Pinetop got a load about three miles up," re- 
 plied Dan, emptying his pipe against the door sill. 
 "I say, who is that cavalry peacock over yonder? 
 By George, it's Champe ! " 
 
 " Perhaps it's General Stuart," suggested Baker 
 witheringly, as Champe came composedly between 
 the rows of huts, pursued by the frantic jeers of 
 the assembled infantry. 
 
 " Take them earrings off yo' heels — take 'em 
 off ! Take 'em off ! " yelled the chorus, as his 
 spurs rang on the stones. " My gal she wants 'em 
 — take 'em off!" 
 
 " Take those tatters off your backs — take 'em 
 off ! " responded Champe, genial and undismayed, 
 swinging easily along in his worn gray uniform, 
 his black plume curling over his soft felt hat. 
 
 As Dan watched him, standing in the doorway, 
 he felt, with a sudden melancholy, that a mental 
 gulf had yawned between them. The last grim 
 months which had aged him with experiences as 
 with years, had left Champe apparently unchanged. 
 All the deeper knowledge, which he had bought 
 with his youth for the price, had passed over his 
 
The Peaceful Side of War 439 
 
 cousin like the clouds, leaving him merely gay and 
 kind as he had been of old. 
 
 " Hello, Beau ! " called Champe, stretching out 
 his hand as he drew near. " I just heard you were 
 over here, so I thought I'd take a look. How goes 
 the war ? " 
 
 Dan refilled his pipe and borrowed a light from 
 Pinetop. 
 
 " To tell the truth," he replied, " I have come to 
 the conclusion that the fun and frolic of war con- 
 sist in picket duty and guarding mule teams." 
 
 " Well, these excessive dissipations have taken up 
 so much of your time that I've hardly laid eyes 
 on you since you got routed by malaria. Any news 
 from home ? " 
 
 " Grandma sent me a Christmas box, which she 
 smuggled through, heaven knows how. We had 
 a jolly dinner that day, and Pinetop and I put 
 on our first clean ;lothes for three months. Big 
 Abel got a linsey suit made at Chericoke — I hope 
 he'll come along in it." 
 
 " Oh, Beau, Beau ! " lamented Champe. " How 
 have the mighty fallen? You aren't so particular 
 now about wearing only white or black ties, I 
 reckon." 
 
 " Well, shoestrings are usually black, I believe," 
 returned Dan, with a laugh, raising his hand to his 
 throat. 
 
 Champe seated himself upon the end of an oak 
 log, and taking off his hat, ran his hand through 
 his curling hair. " I was at home last summer an 
 a furlough," he remarked, "and I declare, I hardly 
 knew the valley. If we ever come out of this war 
 
44-0 The Battle- Ground 
 
 it will take an army with ploughshares to bring the 
 soil up again. As for the woods — well, well, we'll 
 never have them back in our day." 
 
 " Did you see Uplands? " asked Dan eagerly. 
 
 " For a moment. It was hardly safe, you know, 
 so I was at home only a day. Grandpa told me that 
 the place had lain under a shadow ever since Vir- 
 ginia's death. She was buried in Hollywood — it 
 was impossible to bring her through the lines they 
 said — and Betty and Mrs. Ambler have taken this 
 very hardly." 
 
 " And the Governor," said Dan, with a tremor in 
 his voice as he thought of Betty. 
 
 "And Jack Morson," added Champe, "he fell 
 at Brandy Station when I was with him. At first 
 he was wounded only slightly, and we tried to get 
 him to the rear, but he laughed and went straight 
 in again. It was a sabre cut that finished him at the 
 last." 
 
 " He was a first-rate chap," commented Dan, 
 " but I never knew exactly why Virginia fell in 
 love with him." 
 
 " The other fellow never does. To be quite can- 
 did, it is beyond my comprehension how a certain 
 lady can prefer the infantry to the cavalry — yet she 
 does emphatically." 
 
 Dan coloured. 
 
 " Was grandpa well ? " he inquired lamely. 
 
 With a laugh Champe flung one leg over the 
 other, and clasped his knee. 
 
 " It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," he re- 
 sponded. " Grandpa's thoughts are so much given 
 to the Yankees that he has become actually angelic 
 
The Peaceful Side of War 441 
 
 to the rest of us. By the way, do you know that 
 Mr. Blake is in the army ? " 
 
 " What ? " cried Dan, aghast. 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean that he really carries a rifle — 
 though he swears he would if he only had twenty 
 years off his shoulders — but he has become our 
 chaplain in young Chrysty's place, and the boys say 
 there is more gun powder in his prayers than in our 
 biggest battery." 
 
 " Well, I never ! " exclaimed Dan. 
 
 " You ought to hear him — it's better than fight- 
 ing on your own account. Last Sunday he gave 
 us a prayer in which he said : ' O Lord, thou know- 
 est that we are the greatest army thou hast ever 
 seen; put forth thy hand then but a very little and 
 we will whip the earth.' By Jove, you look cosey 
 here," he added, glancing into the hut where Dan 
 and Pinetop slept in bunks of straw. " I hope 
 the roads won't dry before you've warmed your 
 house." He shook hands again, and swung off 
 amid the renewed jeers that issued from the open 
 doorways. 
 
 Dan watched him until he vanished among the 
 distant pines, and then, turning, went into the little 
 hut where he found Pinetop sitting before a rude 
 chimney, which he had constructed with much 
 labour. A small book was open on his knee, over 
 which his yellow head drooped like a child's, and 
 Dan saw his calm face reddened by the glow of 
 the great log fire. 
 
 " Hello ! What's that ? " he inquired lightly. 
 
 The mountaineer started from his abstraction, and 
 the blood swept to his forehead as he rose from 
 
44 2 The Battle-Ground 
 
 the half of a flour barrel upon which he had been 
 sitting. 
 
 " 'Tain't nothin','' he responded, and as he tow- 
 ered to his great height his fair curls brushed the 
 ceiling of crossed rails. In his awkwardness the 
 book fell to the floor, and before he could reach it, 
 Dan had stooped, with a laugh, and picked it up. 
 
 " I say, there are no secrets in this shebang," he 
 said smiling. Then the smile went out, and his 
 face grew suddenly grave, for, as the book fell open 
 in his hand, he saw that it was the first primer of a 
 child, and on the thumbed and tattered page the 
 word " RAT " stared at him in capital letters. 
 
 " By George, man ! " he exclaimed beneath his 
 breath, as he turned from Pinetop to the blazing 
 logs. 
 
 For the first time in his life he was brought face 
 to face with the tragedy of hopeless ignorance for 
 an inquiring mind, and the shock stunned him, at 
 the moment, past the power of speech. Until know- 
 ing Pinetop he had, in the lofty isolation of his 
 class, regarded the plebeian in the light of an alien 
 to the soil, not as a victim to the kindly society in 
 which he himself had moved — a society produced 
 by that free labour which had degraded the white 
 workman to the level of the serf. At the instant 
 the truth pierced home to him, and he recognized 
 it in all the grimness of its pathos. Beside that 
 genial plantation life which he had known he saw 
 rising the wistful figure of the poor man doomed 
 to conditions which he could not change — born, 
 it may be, like Pinetop, self-poised, yet with an un- 
 taught intellect, grasping, like him, after the primi- 
 
The Peaceful Side of War 443 
 
 tive knowledge which should be the birthright of 
 every child. Even the spectre of slavery, which 
 had shadowed his thoughts, as it had those of many 
 a generous mind around him, faded abruptly before 
 the very majesty of the problem that faced him 
 now. In his sympathy for the slave, whose bond- 
 age he and his race had striven to make easy, he 
 had overlooked the white sharer of the negro's 
 wrong. To men like Pinetop, slavery, stern or mild, 
 could be but an equal menace, and yet these were 
 the men who, when Virginia called, came from 
 their little cabins in the mountains, who tied the 
 flint-locks upon their muskets and fought uncom- 
 plainingly until the end. Not the need to protect a 
 decaying institution, but the instinct in every free 
 man to defend the soil, had brought Pinetop, as 
 it had brought Dan, into the army of the South. 
 
 " Look here, old man, you haven't been quite 
 fair to me," said Dan, after the long silence. " Why 
 didn't you ask me to help you with this stuff? " 
 
 " Wall, I thought you'd joke," replied Pinetop 
 blushing, " and I knew yo' nigger would." 
 
 " Joke ? Good Lord ! " exclaimed Dan. " Do you 
 think I was born with so short a memory, you 
 scamp ? Where are those nights on the way to Rom- 
 ney when you covered me with your overcoat to 
 keep me from freezing in the snow? Where, for 
 that matter, is that march in Maryland when Big 
 Abel and you carried me three miles in your arms 
 after I had dropped delirious by the roadside? If 
 you thought I'd joke you about this, Pinetop, all I 
 can say is that you've turned into a confounded 
 fool." 
 
444 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Pinetop came back to the fire and seated him- 
 self upon the flour barrel in the corner. " 'Twas 
 this way, you see," he said, breaking, for the first 
 time, through his strong mountain reserve. " I 
 al'ays' thought I'd like to read a bit, 'specially on 
 winter evenings at home, when the nights are long 
 and you don't have to git up so powerful early in 
 the mornings, but when I was leetle thar warn't no- 
 body to teach me how to begin ; maw she didn't 
 know nothin' an' paw he was dead, though he never 
 got beyond the first reader when he was 'live." 
 
 He looked up and Dan nodded gravely over his 
 pipe. 
 
 " Then when I got bigger I had to work mighty 
 hard to keep things goin' — an' it seemed to me 
 every time I took out that thar leetle book at night 
 I got so dead sleepy I couldn't tell one letter from 
 another; A looked jest like Z." 
 
 " I see," said Dan quietly. " Well, there's time 
 enough here anyhow. It will be a good way to 
 pass the evenings." He opened the primer and laid 
 it on his knee, running his fingers carelessly through 
 its dog-eared pages. " Do you know your letters ? " 
 he inquired in a professional tone. 
 
 " Lordy, yes," responded Pinetop. " I've got 
 about as fur as this here place." He crossed to 
 where Dan sat and pointed with a long forefinger 
 to the printed words, his mild blue eyes beaming 
 with excitement. 
 
 " I reckon I kin read that by myself," he 
 added with an embarrassed laugh. " T-h-e c-a-t 
 c-a-u-g-h-t t-h-e r-a-t. Ain't that right ? " 
 
 " Perfectly. We'll pass on to the next." And 
 
The Peaceful Side of War 445 
 
 they did so, sitting on the halves of a divided flour 
 barrel before the blazing chimney. 
 
 From this time there were regular lessons in 
 the little hut, Pinetop drawling over the soiled 
 primer, or crouching, with his long legs twisted 
 under him and his elbows awkwardly extended, 
 while he filled a sheet of paper with sprawling 
 letters. 
 
 " I'll be able to write to the old woman soon," he 
 chuckled jubilantly, " an' she'll have to walk all the 
 way down the mounting to git it read." 
 
 " You'll be a scholar yet if this keeps up," replied 
 Dan, slapping him upon the shoulder, as the moun- 
 taineer glanced up with a pleased and shining 
 face. " Why, you mastered that first reader there 
 in no time." 
 
 " A powerful heap of larnin' has to pass through 
 yo' head to git a leetle to stick thar," commented 
 Pinetop, wrinkling his brows. " Air we goin' to 
 have the big book agin to-night ? " 
 
 " The big book " was a garbled version of " Les 
 Miserables," which, after running the blockade 
 with a daring English sailor, had passed from regi- 
 ment to regiment in the resting army. At first Dan 
 had begun to read with only Pinetop for a listener, 
 but gradually, as the tale unfolded, a group of 
 eager privates filled the little hut and even hung 
 breathlessly about the doorway in the winter nights. 
 They were mostly gaunt, unwashed volunteers from 
 the hills or the low countries, to whom literature 
 was only a vast silence and life a courageous 
 struggle against greater odds. To Dan the pic- 
 turesaueness of the scene lent itself with all the 
 
446 1 he Battle-Ground 
 
 force of its strong lights and shadows, and with the 
 glow of the pine torches on the open page, his eyes 
 would sometimes wander from the words to rest 
 upon the kindling faces in the shaggy circle by the 
 fire. Dirty, hollow-eyed, unshaven, it sat spell- 
 bound by the magic of the tale it could not read. 
 
 " By Gosh ! that's a blamed good bishop," re- 
 marked an unkempt smoker one evening from the 
 threshold, where his beef-hide shoes were covered 
 with fine snow. " I don't reckon Marse Robert 
 could ha' beat that." 
 
 " Marse Robert ain't never tried," put in a com- 
 panion by the fire. 
 
 " Wall, I ain't sayin' he had," corrected the first 
 speaker, through a cloud of smoke. " Lord, I hope 
 when my time comes I kin slip into heaven on 
 Marse Robert's coat-tails." 
 
 " If you don't, you won't never git thar! " jeered 
 the second. Then they settled themselves again, 
 and listened with sombre faces and twitching lips. 
 
 It was during this winter that Dan learned how 
 one man's influence may fuse individual and op- 
 posing wills into a single supreme endeavour. The 
 Army of Northern Virginia, as he saw it then, was 
 moulded, sustained, and made effective less ky the 
 authority of the Commander than by the simple 
 power of Lee over the hearts of the men who bore 
 his muskets. For a time Dan had sought to trace 
 the groundspring of this impassioned loyalty, seek- 
 ing a reason that could not be found in generals 
 less beloved. Surely it was not the illuminated fig- 
 ure of the conqueror, for when had the Commander 
 held closer the affection of his troops than in that 
 
The Peaceful Side of War 447 
 
 ill-starred campaign into Maryland, which left the 
 moral victory of a superb fight in McClellan's 
 hands? No, the charm lay deeper still, beyond all 
 the fictitious aids of fortune — somewhere in that 
 serene and noble presence he had met one evening 
 as the gray dusk closed, riding alone on an old road 
 between level fields. After this it was always as 
 a high figure against a low horizon that he had 
 seen the man who made his army. 
 
 As the long winter passed away, he learned, not 
 only much of the spirit of his own side, but some- 
 thing that became almost a sunny tolerance, of 
 the great blue army across the Rappahannock. He 
 had exchanged Virginian tobacco for Northern 
 coffee at the outposts, and when on picket duty 
 along the cold banks of the river he would some- 
 times shout questions and replies across the 
 stream. In these meetings there was only a wide 
 curiosity with little bitterness ; and once a friendly 
 New England picket had delivered a religious 
 homily from the opposite shore, as he leaned upon 
 his rifle. 
 
 " I didn't think much of you Rebs before I came 
 down here," he had concluded in a precise and en- 
 ergetic shout, " but I guess, after all, you've got 
 souls in your bodies like the rest of us." 
 
 " I reckon we have. Any coffee over your side ? " 
 
 " Plenty. The war's interfered considerably with 
 the tobacco crop, ain't it?" 
 
 " Well, rather ; we've enough for ourselves, but 
 none to offer our visitors." 
 
 " Look here, are all these things about you in the 
 papers gospel truth ? " 
 
448 The Battle- Ground 
 
 " Can't say. What things ? " 
 
 " Do you always carry bowie knives into battle?" 
 
 " No, we use scissors — they're more convenient." 
 
 " When you catch a runaway nigger do you chop 
 him up in little pieces and throw him to the hogs ? " 
 
 " Not exactly. We boil him down and grease 
 our cartridges." 
 
 " After Bull Run did you set up all the live 
 Zouaves you got hold of as targets for rifle prac- 
 tice?" 
 
 " Can't remember about the Zouaves. Rather 
 think we made them into flags." 
 
 " Well, you Rebels take the breath out of me," 
 commented the picket across the river ; and then, as 
 the relief came, Dan hurried back to look for the mail 
 bag and a letter from Betty. For Betty wrote often 
 these days — letters sometimes practical, sometimes 
 impassioned, always filled with cheer, and often with 
 bright gossip. Of her own struggle at Uplands 
 and the long days crowded with work, she wrote 
 no word ; all her sympathy, all her large passion, 
 and all her wise advice in little matters were for 
 Dan from the beginning to the end. She made him 
 promise to keep warm if it were possible, to read 
 his Bible when he had the time, and to think of 
 her at all hours in every season. In a neat little 
 package there came one day a gray knitted waist- 
 coat which he was to wear when on picket duty 
 beside the river, " and be very sure to fasten it," 
 she had written. " I have sewed the buttons on so 
 tight they can't come off. Oh, if I had only papa 
 and Virginia and you back again I could be happy 
 in a hovel. Dear mamma says so, too." 
 
The Peaceful Side of War 449 
 
 And after much calm advice there would come 
 whole pages that warmed him from head to foot. 
 " Your kisses are still on my lips," she wrote one 
 day. " The Major said to me, ' Your mouth is 
 very warm, my dear,' and I almost answered, ' you 
 feel Dan's kisses, sir.' What would he have said, 
 do you think? As it was I only smiled and turned 
 away, and longed to run straight to you to be caught 
 up in your arms and held there forever. O my be- 
 loved, when you need me only stretch out your 
 hands and I will come." 
 
VII 
 
 THE SILENT BATTLE 
 
 Despite the cheerfulness of Betty's letters, there 
 were times during the next dark years when it 
 seemed to her that starvation must be the only end. 
 The negroes had been freed by the Governor's will, 
 but the girl could not turn them from their homes, 
 and, with the exception of the few field hands who 
 had followed the Union army, they still lived in 
 their little cabins and drew their daily rations from 
 the storehouse. Betty herself shared their rations 
 of cornmeal and bacon, jealously guarding her small 
 supplies of milk and eggs for Mrs. Ambler and the 
 two old ladies. " It makes no difference what I 
 eat," she would assure protesting Mammy Riah. 
 " I am so strong, you see, and besides I really like 
 Aunt Floretta's ashcakes." 
 
 Spring and summer passed, with the ripened veg- 
 etables which Hosea had planted in the garden, and 
 the long winter brought with it the old daily strug- 
 gle to make the slim barrels of meal last until the 
 next harvesting. It was in this year that the four 
 women at Uplands followed the Major's lead and 
 invested their united fortune in Confederate bonds. 
 " We will rise or fall with the government," Mrs. 
 Ambler had said with her gentle authority. " Since 
 we have given it our best, let it take all freely." 
 
 " Surely money is of no matter," Betty had an- 
 
 45° 
 
The Silent Battle 451 
 
 swered, lavishly disregardful of worldly goods. 
 "Do you think we might give our jewels, too? I 
 have grandma's pearls hidden beneath the floor, 
 you know." 
 
 " If need be — let us wait, dear," replied her 
 mother, who, grave and pallid as a ghost, would 
 eat nothing that, by any chance, could be made to 
 reach the army. 
 
 " I do not want it, my child, there are so many 
 hungrier than I," she would say when Betty brought 
 her dainty little trays from the pantry. 
 
 " But I am hungry for you, mamma — take it 
 for my sake," the girl would beg, on the point of 
 tears. " You are starving, that is it — and yet it 
 does not feed the army." 
 
 In these days it seemed to her that all the anguish 
 of her life had centred in the single fear of losing 
 her mother. At times she almost reproached herself 
 with loving Dan too much, and for months she 
 would resolutely keep her thoughts from following 
 him, while she laid her impassioned service at her 
 mother's feet. Day or night there was hardly a 
 moment when she was not beside her, trying, by 
 very force of love, to hold her back from the death 
 to which she went with her slow and stately tread. 
 
 For Mrs. Ambler, who had kept her strength for 
 a year after the Governor's death, seemed at last to 
 be gently withdrawing from a place in which she 
 found herself a stranger. There was nothing to de- 
 tain her now ; she was too heartsick to adapt herself 
 to many changes ; loss and approaching poverty 
 might be borne by one for whom the chief thing yet 
 remained, but she had seen this go, and so she 
 
452 The Battle-Ground 
 
 waited, with her pensive smile, for the momenf 
 when she too might follow. If Betty were not look- 
 ing she would put her untasted food aside ; but the 
 girl soon found this out, and watched her every 
 mouthful with imploring eyes. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, do it to please me," she entreated. 
 
 " Well, give it back, my dear," Mrs. Ambler an- 
 swered, complaisant as always, and when Betty 
 triumphantly declared, " You feel better now — you 
 know you do, you dearest," she responded read- 
 ily:- 
 
 "Much better, darling; give me some straw to 
 plait — I have grown to like to have my hands 
 busy. Your old bonnet is almost gone, so I shall 
 plait you one of this and trim it with a piece of 
 ribbon Aunt Lydia found yesterday in the attic." 
 
 " I don't mind going bareheaded, if you will onlv 
 eat." 
 
 " I was never a hearty eater. Your father used 
 to say that I ate less than a robin. It was the cus- 
 tom for ladies to have delicate appetites in my day, 
 you see ; and I remember your grandma's amaze- 
 ment when Miss Pokey Mickleborough was asked 
 at our table what piece of chicken she preferred, and 
 answered quite aloud, ' Leg, if you please.' She 
 was considered very indelicate by your grandma, 
 who had never so much as tasted any part except 
 the wing." 
 
 She sat, gentle and upright, in her rosewood 
 chair, her worn silk dress rustling as she crossed her 
 feet, her beautiful hands moving rapidly with the 
 straw plaiting. " I was brought up very carefully, 
 my dear," she added, turning her head with its 
 
The Silent Battle 453 
 
 shining bands of hair a little silvered since the be- 
 ginning of the war. " ' A girl is like a flower,' your 
 grandpa always said. ' If a rough wind blows near 
 her, her bloom is faded.' Things are different now 
 — very different." 
 
 " But this is war," said Betty. 
 
 Mrs. Ambler nodded over the slender braid. 
 
 " Yes, this is war," she added with her wistful 
 smile, and a moment afterward looked up again to 
 ask in a dazed way : — 
 
 "What was the last battle, dear? I can't re- 
 member." 
 
 Betty's glance sought the lawn outside where the 
 warm May sunshine fell in shafts of light upon 
 the purple lilacs. 
 
 " They are fighting now in the Wilderness," she 
 answered, her thoughts rushing to the famished 
 army closed in the death grapple with its enemy. 
 " Dan got a letter to me and he says it is like fight- 
 ing in a jungle, the vines are so thick they can't 
 see the other side. He has to aim by ear instead of 
 sight." 
 
 Mrs. Ambler's fingers moved quickly. 
 
 " He has become a very fine man," she said. 
 " Your father always liked him — and so did I — 
 but at one time we were afraid that he was going to 
 be too much his father's son — he looked so like 
 him on his wild days, especially when he had taken 
 wine and his colour went high." 
 
 " But he has the Lightfoot eyes. The Major, 
 Champe, even their Great-aunt Emmeline have 
 those same gray eyes that are always laughing." 
 
 "Jane Lightfoot had them, too," added Mrs, 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 20 
 
454 The Battle- Ground 
 
 Ambler. " She used to say that to love hard went 
 with them. ' The Lightfoot eyes are never disillu- 
 sioned/ she once told me. I wonder if she remem- 
 bered that afterwards, poor girl." 
 
 Betty was silent for a moment. 
 
 " It sounds cruel," she confessed, " but you 
 know, I have sometimes thought that it may have 
 been just a little bit her fault, mamma." 
 
 Mrs. Ambler smiled. " Your grandpa used to 
 say ' get a woman to judge a woman and there 
 comes a hanging.' " 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean that," responded Betty, blush- 
 ing. " Jack Mont joy was a scoundrel, I suppose — 
 but I think that even if Dan had been a scoundrel, 
 instead of so big and noble — I could have made 
 his life so much better just because I loved him; 
 if love is only large enough it seems to me that all 
 such things as being good and bad are swallowed 
 up." 
 
 " I don't know — your father was very good, 
 and I loved him because of it. He was of the salt of 
 the earth, as Mr. Blake wrote to me last year." 
 
 " There has never been anybody like papa," said 
 Betty, her eyes filling. " Not even Dan — for I can't 
 imagine papa being anything but what he was — and 
 ^yet I know even if Dan were as wild as the Major 
 once believed him to be, I could have gone with him 
 not the least bit afraid. I was so sure of myself that 
 if he had beaten me he could not have broken my 
 spirit. I should always have known that some day 
 he would need me and be sorry." 
 
 Tender, pensive, bred in the ancient ways, Mrs. 
 Ambler looked up at her and shook her head. 
 
The Silent Battle 455 
 
 " You are very strong, my child," she answered, 
 " and I think it makes us all lean too much upon 
 you." 
 
 Taking her hand, Betty kissed each slender fin- 
 ger. " I lean on you for the best in life, mamma," 
 she answered, and then turned to the window. " It's 
 my working time," she said, " and there is poor 
 Hosea trying to plough without horses. I wonder 
 how he'll manage it." 
 
 " Are all the horses gone, dear ? " 
 
 " All except Prince Rupert and papa's mare. 
 Peter keeps them hidden in the mountains, and I 
 carried them the last two apples yesterday. Prince 
 Rupert knew me in the distance and whinnied be- 
 fore Peter saw me. Now I'll send Aunt Lydia to 
 you, dearest, while I see about the weaving. 
 Mammy Riah has almost finished my linsey dress." 
 She kissed her again and went out to where 
 the looms were working in one of the detached 
 wings. 
 
 The summer went by slowly. The famished army 
 fell back inch by inch, and at Uplands the battle 
 grew more desperate with the days. Without horses 
 it was impossible to plant the crops and on the open 
 turnpike swept by bands of raiders as by armies, it 
 was no less impossible to keep the little that was 
 planted. Betty, standing at her window in the early 
 mornings, would glance despairingly over the 
 wasted fields and the quiet little cabins, where the 
 negroes were stirring about their work. Those 
 little cabins, forming a crescent against the green 
 hill, caused her an anxiety before which her own 
 daily suffering was of less account. When the 
 
456 The Battle- Ground 
 
 time came that was fast approaching, and the se- 
 cret places were emptied of their last supplies, 
 where could those faithful people turn in their dis- 
 tress? The question stabbed her like a sword each 
 morning before she put on her bonnet of plaited 
 straw and ran out to make her first round of the 
 farm. Behind her cheerful smile there was always 
 the grim fear growing sharper every hour. 
 
 Then on a golden summer afternoon, when the 
 larder had been swept by a band of raiders, she 
 became suddenly aware that there was nothing in 
 the house for her mother's supper, and, with the 
 army pistol in her hand, set out across the fields for 
 Chericoke. As she walked over the sunny meadows, 
 the shadow that was always lifted in Mrs. Ambler's 
 presence fell heavily upon her face and she choked 
 back a rising sob. What would the end be? she 
 asked herself in sudden anguish, or was this the 
 end? 
 
 Reaching Chericoke she found Mrs. Lightfoot 
 and Aunt Rhody drying sliced sweet potatoes on 
 boards along the garden fence, where the sunflowers 
 and hollyhocks flaunted in the face of want. 
 
 " I've just gotten a new recipe for coffee, child," 
 the old lady began in mild excitement. " Last year 
 I made it entirely of sweet potatoes, but Mrs. Blake 
 tells me that she mixes rye and a few roasted chest- 
 nuts. Mr. Lightfoot took supper with her a week 
 ago, and he actually congratulated her upon still 
 keeping her real old Mocha. Be sure to try it." 
 
 " Indeed I shall — the very next time Hosea gets 
 any sweet potatoes. Some raiders have just dug up 
 the last with their sabres and eaten them raw." 
 
The Silent Battle 457 
 
 " Well, they'll certainly have colic," remarked 
 Mrs. Lightfoot, with professional interest. 
 
 " I hope so," said Betty, " but I've come over to 
 beg something for mamma's supper — eggs, chick' 
 ens, anything except bacon. She can't touch that, 
 she'd starve first." 
 
 Looking anxious, Mrs. Lightfoot appealed to 
 Aunt Rhody, who was busily spreading little squares 
 of sweet potatoes on the clean boards. " Rhody, 
 can't you possibly find us some eggs ? " she in- 
 quired. 
 
 Aunt Rhody stopped her work and turned upon 
 them all the dignity of two hundred pounds of 
 flesh. 
 
 " How de hens gwine lay w'en dey's done been 
 eaten up ? " she demanded. 
 
 " Isn't there a single chicken left ? " hopelessly 
 persisted the old lady. 
 
 " Who gwine lef ' 'em ? Ain' dose low-lif eted 
 sodgers dat rid by yestiddy done stole de las' one un 
 'urn off de nes' ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot sternly remonstrated. 
 
 " They were our own soldiers, Rhody, and they 
 don't steal — they merely take." 
 
 " I don' see de diffunce," sniffed Aunt Rhody. 
 " All I know is dat dey pulled de black hen plum off 
 de nes' whar she wuz a-settin'. Den des now de 
 Yankees come a-prancin' up en de ducks tuck ter de 
 water en de Yankees dey went a-wadin' atter dem. 
 Yes, Lawd, dey went a-wadin' wid dey shoes on." 
 
 The old lady sighed. 
 
 " I'm afraid there's nothing, Betty," she said, 
 " though Congo has gone to town to see if he can 
 
45 8 The Battle-Ground 
 
 find any fowls, and I'll send some over if he brings 
 them. We had a Sherman pudding for dinner our- 
 selves, and I know the sorghum in it will give the 
 Major gout for a month. Well, well, this is war, I 
 reckon, and I must say, for my part, I never ex- 
 pected it to be conducted like a flirtation behind a 
 fan." 
 
 " I nuver seed no use a-fittin' unless you is gwine 
 ter fit in de yuther pusson's yawd," interpolated 
 Aunt Rhody. " De way ter fit is ter keep a-sidlin' 
 furder f'om yo' own hen roos' en nigher ter de hen 
 roos' er de somebody dat's a-fittin' you." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Rhody," retorted Mrs. Light- 
 foot, and then drew Betty a little to one side. " I 
 have some port wine, my dear," she whispered, 
 " which Cupid buried under the old asparagus bed, 
 and I'll tell him to dig up several bottles and take 
 them to you. The other servants don't know of it, 
 so I can't get it out till after dark. Poor Julia! 
 how does she stand these terrible days ? " 
 
 Betty's lips quivered. " I have to force her to 
 eat," she replied, " and it seems almost cruel — she 
 is so tired of life." 
 
 " I know, my dear," responded the old lady, wip- 
 ing her eyes ; " and we have our troubles, too. 
 Champe is in prison now, and Mr. Lightfoot is very 
 much upset. He says this General Grant is not like 
 the others, that he knows him — and he's the kind 
 to hang on as long as he's alive." 
 
 " But we must win in the end," said Betty, des- 
 perately ; " we have sacrificed so much, how can it 
 all be lost?" 
 
 " That's what Mr. Lightfoot says — we'll win in 
 
The Silent Battle 459 
 
 the end, but the end's a long way off. By the way, 
 did you know that Car'line had run off after the 
 Yankees? When I think how that girl had been 
 spoiled ! " 
 
 " Oh, I wish they'd all go," returned Betty. " All 
 except Mammy and Uncle Shadrach and Hosea — 
 and even they make starvation that much nearer." 
 
 " Well, we shan't starve yet awhile, dear ; I'm in 
 hopes that Congo will ransack the town. If you 
 would only stay." 
 
 But Betty shook her head and went back across 
 the meadows, walking rapidly through the lush 
 grass of the deserted pastures. Her mind was so 
 filled with Mrs. Lightfoot's forebodings, that when, 
 in climbing the low stone wall, she saw the free 
 negro, Levi, coming toward her, she turned to him 
 with a gesture that was almost an appeal for sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 " Uncle Levi, these are sad times now," she said. 
 " I am looking for something for mamma's supper 
 and I can find nothing." 
 
 The old negro, shabbier, lonelier, poorer than ever, 
 shambled up to the wall where she was standing and 
 uncovered a split basket full of eggs. 
 
 " I'se got a pa'cel er hens hid in de woods over 
 yonder," he explained, " en I keep de eggs behin' 
 de j'ists in my cabin. Sis Floretty she tole me dat 
 de w'ite folks wuz wuss off den de niggers now, so 
 I brung you dese." , 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Levi ! " cried Betty, seizing his 
 gnarled old hands. As she looked at his stricken fig- 
 ure a compassion as acute as pain brought the quick 
 tears to her eyes. She remembered the isolation of 
 
460 The Battle-Ground 
 
 his life, the scornful suspicion he had met from white 
 and black, and the injustice that had set him free 
 and sold Sarindy up the river. 
 
 " You wuz moughty good ter me," muttered free 
 Levi, shuffling his bare feet in the long grass, " en 
 Marse Dan, he wuz moughty good ter me, too, 'fo' 
 he went away on dat black night. I 'members de 
 time w'en dat ole Rainy-day Jones up de big road 
 (we all call him Rainy-day caze he looked so sour) 
 had me right by de collar wid de hick'ry branch 
 a sizzlin' in de a'r, en I des 'lowed de een had mos' 
 come. Yes, Lawd, I did, but I warn' countin' on 
 Marse Dan. He warn' mo'n wais' high ter ole 
 Rainy-day, but de furs' thing I know dar wuz ole 
 Rainy-day on de yerth wid Marse Dan a-lashin' 'im 
 wid de branch er hick'ry." 
 
 " We shall never forget you — Dan and I," an- 
 swered Betty, as she took the basket, " and when 
 the time comes we will repay you." 
 
 The old negro smiled and turned from her, and 
 Betty, quickening her pace, ran on to Uplands, 
 reaching the house a little breathless from the long 
 walk. 
 
 In the chamber upstairs she found Mrs. Ambler 
 sitting before the window with her open Bible on 
 the sill, where a spray of musk roses entered from 
 the outside wall. 
 
 " All well, mamma?" she asked in a cheerful 
 voice. 
 
 Mrs. Ambler started and turned slowly from the 
 window. 
 
 " I see a great light on the road," she murmured 
 wonderingly. 
 
The Silent Battle 461 
 
 Crossing to where she sat, Betty leaned out above 
 the climbing roses and glanced to the mountains 
 huddled against the sky. 
 
 " It is General Sheridan going up the valley," she 
 said. 
 
VIII 
 
 THE LAST STAND 
 
 In the face of a damp April wind a remnant of 
 Lee's army pushed forward along an old road skirted 
 by thin pine woods. As the column moved on 
 slowly, it threw out skirmishers on either flank, 
 where the Federal cavalry hovered in the distance. 
 Once in an open clearing it formed into a hollow 
 square and marched in battle line to avoid capture. 
 While the regiments kept in motion the men walked 
 steadily in the ranks, with their hollowed eyes 
 staring straight ahead from their gaunt, tanned 
 faces ; but at the first halt they fell like logs upon 
 the roadside, sleeping amid the sound of shots and 
 the stinging cavalry. With the cry of " Forward ! " 
 they struggled to their feet again, and went stum- 
 bling on into the vast uncertainty and the approach- 
 ing night. Breathless, starving, with their rags 
 pinned together, and their mouths bleeding from 
 three days' rations of parched corn, they still kept 
 onward, marching with determined eyes to whatever 
 and wherever the end might be. Petersburg had 
 fallen, Richmond was in flames behind them, the 
 Confederacy was, perhaps, buried in the ruins of its 
 Capitol, but Lee was still somewhere to the front, 
 so his army followed. 
 
 " How long have we been marching, boys ? I can't 
 462 
 
The Last Stand 463 
 
 remember," asked Dan, when, after a short rest, 
 they formed again and started forward over the old 
 road. In the tatters of his gray uniform, with his 
 broken shoes tied on his feet and his black hair 
 hanging across his eyes, he might have been one of 
 the beggars who warm themselves in the sun of 
 Southern countries. 
 
 " Oh, I reckon we left the Garden of Eden about 
 six thousand years ago," responded a wag from 
 somewhere — he was too tired to recognize the 
 voice. " There ! the skirmishers have struck that 
 blamed cavalry again. Plague them ! They're as 
 bad as wasps ! " 
 
 " Has anybody some parched corn ? " inquired 
 Bland, plaintively. " I'll trade a whole raw ear for 
 it. It makes my gums bleed so, I can't chew it." 
 
 Dan plunged his hand into his pocket, and drew 
 out the corn which he had shelled and parched at 
 the last halt. As he exchanged it for the " whole 
 raw ear," he fell to wondering vaguely what had 
 become of Big Abel since that dim point in eternity 
 when they had left the trenches that surrounded 
 Petersburg. Then time was divided into periods 
 of nights and days, now night and day alike 
 were made up in breathless marching, in throwing 
 out skirmishers against those " wasps " of cavalry- 
 men, and in trying to force aching teeth to grind 
 parched corn. Panting and sick with hunger, he 
 struggled on like a driven beast that sees the place 
 ahead, where he must turn and grapple for the end 
 with the relentless hunter on his track. 
 
 As the day ended the moist wind gathered 
 strength and sang in his ears as he crept forward — 
 
464 The Battle-Ground 
 
 now sleeping, now waking, for a time filled with 
 warm memories of his college life, and again fight- 
 ing over the last hopeless campaign from the Wil- 
 derness to the trenches where Petersburg had fallen. 
 They had yielded step by step, but the great hunter 
 had pressed on, and now the thin brigades were 
 gathering for the last stand together. 
 
 Overhead he heard the soughing of the pines, and 
 around him the steady tramp of feet too tired to 
 lift themselves from out the heavy mud. Straight 
 above in the muffled sky a star shone dimly, 
 and for a time he watched it in his effort to keep 
 awake. Then he began on the raw corn in his 
 pocket, shelling it from the cob as he walked along ; 
 but when the taste of blood rose to his lips, he put 
 the ear away again, and stooped to rub his eyes with 
 a handful of damp earth. Then, at last, in sheer 
 desperation, he loosened the grip upon his thoughts, 
 and stumbled on, between waking and sleeping, 
 into the darkness that lay ahead. 
 
 In the road before him the door at Chericoke 
 opened wide as on the old Christmas Eves, and he 
 saw the Major and the Governor draining their 
 glasses under the garlands of mistletoe and holly, 
 while Betty and Virginia, in dresses of white tarle- 
 ton, stood against the ruddy glow that filled the 
 panelled parlour. The cheerful Christmas smell 
 was in the air — the smell of apple toddy, of roasted 
 turkey, of plum pudding in a blaze of alcohol. As 
 he entered after his long ride from college, Betty 
 came up to him and slipped a warm white hand into 
 his cold one, while he met the hazel beams from be- 
 neath her lashes. 
 
The Last Stand 465 
 
 " I hope you have brought Jack Morson," she 
 said. " Virginia is waiting. See how lovely she 
 looks in her white flounces, with the string of coral 
 sibout her neck." 
 
 " But the war, Betty ? " he asked, with blinking 
 eyes, and as he put out his hand to touch the pearls 
 upon her bosom, he saw that it was whole again — 
 no wound was there, only the snowflakes that fell 
 from his sleeve upon her breast. " What of the war, 
 dear? I must go back to the army." 
 
 Betty laughed long and merrily. 
 
 " Why, you're dreaming, Dan," she said. " It all 
 comes of those wicked stories of the Major's. In a 
 moment you will believe that this is really 1812, and 
 you've gone without your rations." 
 
 " Thank God ! " he cried aloud, and the sound of 
 his own voice woke him, as he slipped and went 
 down in a mudhole upon the road. The Christmas 
 smell faded from his nostrils ; in its place came the 
 smoke from Pinetop's pipe — a faithful friend until 
 the last. Overhead the star was still shining, and 
 to the front he heard a single shot from the hovering 
 cavalry, withdrawing for the night. 
 
 " God damn this mud ! " called a man behind him. 
 as he lurched sideways from the ranks. Farther 
 away three hoarse voices, the remnant of a once 
 famous glee club, were singing in the endeavour to 
 scare off sleep : — 
 
 " Rally round the flag, boys, rally once again ! " 
 
 And suddenly he was fighting in the tangles of 
 the Wilderness, crouching behind a charred oak 
 stump, while he loaded and fired at the little puffs of 
 
466 The Battle-Ground 
 
 smoke that rose from the undergrowth beyond. He 
 saw the low marshland, the stunted oaks and pines, 
 and the heavy creepers that were pushed aside and 
 trampled underfoot, and at his feet he saw a com- 
 pany officer with a bullet hole through his forehead 
 and a covering of pine needles upon his face. About 
 him the small twigs fell, as if a storm swept the for- 
 est, and as he dodged, like a sharpshooter from 
 tree to tree, he saw a rush of flame and smoke in 
 the distance where the woods were burning. Above 
 the noise of the battle, he heard the shrieks of the 
 wounded men in the track of the fire; and once he 
 met a Union and a Confederate soldier, each shot 
 through the leg, drawing each other back from the 
 approaching flames. Then, as he passed on, tear- 
 ing at the cartridges with his teeth, he came upon a 
 sergeant in Union clothes, sitting against a pine 
 stump with his cocked rifle in his hand, and his eyes 
 on the wind-blown smoke. A moment before the 
 man may have gone down at his shot, he knew — 
 and yet, as he looked, an instinct stronger than the 
 instinct to kill was alive within him, and he rushed 
 on, dragging his enemy with him from the terrible 
 woods. " I hope you are not much hurt," he said, 
 as he placed him on the ground and ran back to 
 where the line was charging. " One life has been 
 paid for," he thought, as he rushed on to kill — and 
 fell face downward on the wheel-ruts of the old 
 road. 
 
 " Rally round the flag, boys, rally once again," 
 
 sang the three hoarse voices, straining against the 
 wind. 
 
The Last Stand 467 
 
 Dan struggled to his feet, and the scene shifted. 
 
 He was back in his childhood, and the Major had 
 just brought in a slave he had purchased from 
 Rainy-day Jones — " the plague spot in the county," 
 as the angry old gentleman declared. 
 
 Dan sat on the pile of kindling wood upon the 
 kitchen hearth and stared at the poor black creature 
 shivering in the warmth, his face distorted with the 
 toothache, and a dirty rag about his jaw. He 
 heard Aunt Rhody snorting indignantly as she 
 basted the turkeys, and he watched his grandmother 
 bustling back and forth with whiskey and hot plas- 
 ters. 
 
 " Who made slavery, sir ? " asked the boy sud- 
 denly, his hands in his breeches pockets and his 
 head bent sideways. 
 
 The Major started. 
 
 " God, sir," he promptly replied. 
 
 " Then I think it very strange of God," said the 
 boy, " and when I grow up, I shall set them all free, 
 grandpa — I shall set them free even if I have to 
 fight to do it, sir." 
 
 " What ! like poor free Levi ? " stormed the 
 Major. 
 
 " Wake up, confound you ! " bawled somebody in 
 his ear. " You've lurched against my side until my 
 ribs are sore. I say, are you going on forever, any- 
 how? We've halted for the night." 
 
 " I can't stop ! " cried Dan, groping in the dark- 
 ness, then he fell heavily upon the damp ground, 
 while a voice down the road began shouting, " De- 
 tail for guard ! " Half asleep and cursing, the men 
 responded to their names and hurried off, and as the 
 
468 The Battle-Ground 
 
 silence closed in, the army slept like a child upon 
 the roadside. 
 
 With the first glimmer of dawn they were on 
 the march again, passing all day through the deso- 
 late flat country, where the women ran weeping to 
 the doorways, and waved empty hands as they went 
 by. Once a girl in a homespun dress, with a spray 
 of apple blossoms in her black hair, brought out a 
 wooden bucket filled with buttermilk and passed it 
 along the line. 
 
 " Fight to the end, boys," she cried defiantly, " and 
 when the end comes, keep on fighting. If you go 
 back on Lee there's not a woman in Virginia will 
 touch your hand." 
 
 " That's right, little gal ! " shrieked a husky pri- 
 vate. " Three cheers for Marse Robert ! an' we'll 
 whip the earth in our bar' feet befo' breakfast." 
 
 " All the same I wish old Stonewall was along," 
 muttered Pinetop. " If I could jest see old Stone- 
 wall or his ghost ahead, I'd know thar was an open 
 road somewhere that Sheridan ain't got his eye 
 on." 
 
 As the sun rose high, refugees from Richmond 
 flocked after them to shout that the town had been 
 fired by the citizens, who had moved, with their 
 families, to the Capitol Square as the flames spread 
 from the great tobacco warehouses. Men who had 
 wives and children in the city groaned as they 
 marched farther from the ashes of their homes, and 
 more than one staggered back into the ranks and 
 went onward under a heavier burden. 
 
 " Wall, I reckon things are fur the best — of 
 they ain't," remarked Pinetop, in a cheerful tone. 
 
The Last Stand 469 
 
 " Thar's no goin' agin that, you - bet. What's the 
 row back thar, I wonder ? " 
 
 The hovering enemy, grown bolder, had fallen 
 upon the flank, and the stragglers and the rear 
 guard were beating off the cavalry, when a regiment 
 was sent back to relieve the pressure. Returning, 
 Pinetop, who was of the attacking party, fell gravely 
 to moralizing upon the scarcity of food. 
 
 " I've tasted every plagued thing that grows in 
 this country except dirt," he observed, " an' I'm 
 goin' to kneel down presently and take a good square 
 mouthful of that." 
 
 " That's one thing we shan't run short of," re- 
 plied Dan, stepping round a mud hole. " By George, 
 we've got to march in a square again across this 
 open. I believe when I set out for heaven, I'll find 
 some of those confounded Yankee troopers watch- 
 ing the road." 
 
 Forming in battle line they advanced cautiously 
 across the clearing, while the skirmishing grew 
 brisker at the front. That night they halted but 
 once upon the way, standing to meet attack against 
 a strip of pines, watching with drawn breath while 
 the enemy crept closer. They heard him in the 
 woods, felt him in the air, saw him in the darkness 
 — like a gigantic coil he approached inch by inch 
 for the last struggle. Now and then a shot rang 
 out, and the little band thrilled to a soldier, and 
 waited breathlessly for the last charge that might 
 end it all. 
 
 " There's only one thing worse than starvation, 
 and it's defeat ! " cried Dan aloud ; then the column 
 swung on and the cry of " Close up, there ! close 
 
470 The Battle- Ground 
 
 up ! " mingled in his ears with the steady tramp 
 upon the road. 
 
 In the early morning" the shots grew faster, and 
 as the column stopped in the cover of a wood, the 
 bullets came singing among the tree-tops, from the 
 left flank where the skirmishers had struck the 
 enemy. During the short rest Dan slept leaning 
 against a twisted aspen, and when Pinetop shook 
 him, he awoke with a dizziness in his head that sent 
 the flat earth slamming against the sky. 
 
 " I believe I'm starving, Pinetop," he said, and 
 his voice rang like a bell in his ears. " I can't 
 see where to put my feet, the ground slips about 
 so. 
 
 For answer Pinetop felt in his pocket and brought 
 out a slice of fat bacon, which he gave to him un- 
 cooked. 
 
 "Wait till I git a light," he commanded. "'A 
 woman up the road gave me a hunk, and Fve had 
 my share." 
 
 " You've had your share," repeated Dan, greedily, 
 his eyes on the meat, though he knew that Pinetop 
 was lying. 
 
 The mountaineer struck a match and lighted a bit 
 of pine, holding the bacon to the flame until it 
 scorched. 
 
 " You'd better git it all in yo' mouth quick," he 
 advised, " for if the smell once starts on the breeze 
 the whole brigade will be on the scent in a min- 
 ute." 
 
 Dan ate it to the last morsel and licked the warm 
 juice from his fingers. 
 
 " You lied, Pinetop," he said, " but, by God, you 
 
The Last Stand 471 
 
 saved my life. What place is this, I wonder. Isn't 
 there any hope of our cutting through Grant's lines 
 to-day?" 
 
 Pinetop glanced about him. 
 
 " Somebody said we were comin' on to Sailor's 
 Creek," he answered, " and it's about as God-for- 
 saken country as I care to see. Hello ! what's 
 that?" 
 
 In the road there was an abandoned battery, cut 
 down and left to rot into the earth, and as they 
 swept past it at " double quick," they heard the 
 sound of rapid firing across the little stream. 
 
 " It's a fight, thank God ! " yelled Pinetop, and at 
 the words a tumultuous joy urged Dan through 
 the water and over the sharp stones. After all the 
 hunger and the intolerable waiting, a chance was 
 come for him to use his musket once again. 
 
 As they passed through an open meadow, a rabbit, 
 starting suddenly from a clump of sumach, went 
 bounding through the long grass before the thin 
 gray line. With ears erect and short white tail 
 bobbing among the broom-sedge, the little quivering 
 creature darted straight toward the low brow of a 
 hill, where a squadron of cavalry made a blue patch 
 on the green. 
 
 " Geriminy ! thar goes a good dinner," Pinetop 
 gasped, smacking his lips. " An' I've got to save 
 this here load for a Yankee I can't eat." 
 
 With a long flying leap the rabbit led the charge 
 straight into the enemy's ranks, and as the squirrel 
 rifles rang out behind it, a blue horseman was swept 
 from every saddle upon the hill. 
 
 " By God, I'm glad I didn't eat that rabbit ! " 
 
47 2 The Battle-Ground 
 
 yelled Pinetop, as he reloaded and raised his musket 
 to his shoulder. 
 
 Back and forth before the line, the general of the 
 brigade was riding bareheaded and frantic with 
 delight. As he passed he made sweeping gestures 
 with his left hand, and his long gray hair floated 
 like a banner upon the wind. 
 
 " They're coming, men ! " he cried. " Get be- 
 hind that fence and have your muskets ready to 
 pick your man. When you see the whites of his 
 eyes fire, and give the bayonet. They're coming! 
 Here they are ! " 
 
 The old " worm " fence went down, and as Dan 
 piled up some loose rails before him, a creeping 
 brier tore his fingers until the blood spurted upon 
 his sleeve. Then, kneeling on the ground, he 
 raised his musket and fired at one of the skirmishers 
 advancing briskly through the broom-sedge. In an 
 instant the meadow and the hill beyond were blue 
 with swarming infantry, and the little gray band 
 fell back, step by step, loading and firing as it went 
 across the field. As the road behind it closed, Dan 
 turned to battle on his own account, and entering a 
 thinned growth of pines, he dodged from tree to 
 tree and aimed above the brushwood. Near him 
 the colour bearer of the regiment was fighting with 
 his flagstaff for a weapon, and out in the meadow a 
 member of the glee club, crouching behind a clump 
 of sassafras as he loaded, was singing in a cracked 
 voice : — 
 
 " Rally round the flag, boys, rally once again !" 
 
 Then a bullet went with a soft thud into the singer's 
 
The Last Stand 473 
 
 breast, and the cracked voice was choked out be- 
 neath the bushes. 
 
 Gripped by a sudden pity for the helpless flag he 
 had loved and followed for four years, Dan made 
 an impetuous dash from out the pines, and tearing 
 the colours from the pole, tossed them over his arm 
 as he retreated rapidly to cover. At the instant he 
 held his life as nothing beside the faded strip of silk 
 that wrapped about his body. The cause for which 
 he had fought, the great captain he had followed, 
 the devotion to a single end which had kept him 
 struggling in the ranks, the daily sacrifice, the very 
 poverty and cold and hunger, all these were bound 
 up and made one with the tattered flag upon his 
 arm. Through the belt of pines, down the muddy 
 road, across the creek and up the long hill, he fell 
 back breathlessly, loading and firing as he went, with 
 his face turned toward the enemy. At the end he 
 became like a fox before the hunters, dashing madly 
 over the rough ground, with the colours blown out 
 behind him, and the quick shots ringing in his ears. 
 
 Then, as if by a single stroke, Lee's army van- 
 ished from the trampled broom-sedge and the strip 
 of pines. The blue brigades closed upon the land- 
 scape and when they opened there were only a group 
 of sullen prisoners and the sound of stray shots 
 from the scattered soldiers who had fought their 
 way beyond the stream. 
 
IX 
 
 IN THE HOUR OF DEFEAT 
 
 As the dusk fell Dan found himself on the road 
 with a little company of stragglers, flying from the 
 pursuing cavalry that drew off slowly as the dark- 
 ness gathered. He had lost his regiment, and, as 
 he went on, he began calling out familiar names, 
 listening with strained ears for an answer that 
 would tell of a friend's escape. At last he caught 
 the outlines of a gigantic figure relieved on a hillock 
 against the pale green west, and, with a shout, he 
 hurried through the swarm of fugitives, and over- 
 took Pinetop, who had stooped to tie his shoe on 
 with a leather strap. 
 
 " Thank God, old man ! " he cried. " Where are 
 the others?" 
 
 Pinetop, panting yet imperturbable, held out a 
 steady hand. 
 
 " The Lord knows," he replied. " Some of 'em 
 air here an' some ain't. I was goin' back agin to 
 git the flag, when I saw you chased like a fox 
 across the creek with it hangin' on yo' back. Then 
 I kinder thought it wouldn't do for none of the 
 regiment to answer when Marse Robert called, so 
 I came along right fast and kep' hopin' you would 
 follow." 
 
 " Here I am," responded Dan, " and here are the 
 474 
 
In the Hour of Defeat 475 
 
 colours." He twined the silk more closely about 
 his arm, gloating over his treasure in the twilight. 
 
 Pinetop stretched out his great rough hand and 
 touched the flag as gently as if it were a woman. 
 
 " I've fought under this here thing goin' on 
 four years now," he said, " and I reckon when they 
 take it prisoner, they take me along with it." 
 
 " And me," added Dan ; " poor Granger went 
 down, you know, just as I took it from him. He 
 fell fighting with the pole." 
 
 " Wall, it's a better way than most," Pinetop re- 
 plied, " an' when the angel begins to foot up my 
 account on Jedgment Day, I shouldn't mind his 
 cappin' the whole list with ' he lost his life, but he 
 didn't lose his flag.' To make a blamed good fight 
 is what the Lord wants of us, I reckon, or he 
 wouldn't have made our hands itch so when they 
 touch a musket." 
 
 Then they trudged on silently, weak from hun- 
 ger, sickened by defeat. When, at last, the dis- 
 organized column halted, and the men fell to the 
 ground upon their rifles, Dan kindled a fire and 
 parched his corn above the coals. After it was 
 eaten they lay down side by side and slept peace- 
 fully on the edge of an old field. 
 
 For three days they marched steadily onward, 
 securing meagre rations in a little town where they 
 rested for a while, and pausing from time to time, 
 to beat off a feigned attack. Pinetop, cheerful, 
 strong, undaunted by any hardship, set his face 
 unflinchingly toward the battle that must clear a 
 road for them through Grant's lines. Had he met 
 alone a squadron of cavalry in the field, he would, 
 
476 The Battle-Ground 
 
 probably, have taken his stand against a pine, and 
 aimed his musket as coolly as if a squirrel were the 
 mark. With his sunny temper, and his gloomy 
 gospel of predestination, his heart could swell with 
 hope even while he fought single-handed in the 
 face of big battalions. What concerned him, after 
 all, was not so much the chance of an ultimate 
 victory for the cause, as the determination in his 
 own mind to fight it out as long as he had a car- 
 tridge remaining in his box. As his fathers had 
 kept the frontier, so he meant, on his own account, 
 to keep Virginia. 
 
 On the afternoon of the third day, as the little 
 company drew near to Appomattox Court House, 
 it found the road blocked with abandoned guns, 
 and lined by exhausted stragglers, who had gone 
 down at the last halting place. As it filed into an 
 open field beyond a wooded level, where a few 
 campfires glimmered, a group of Federal horse- 
 men clattered across the front, and, as if by in- 
 stinct, the column formed into battle line, and 
 the hand of every man was on the trigger of 
 his musket. 
 
 " Don't fire, you fools ! " called an officer behind 
 them, in a voice sharp with irritation. " The army 
 has surrendered ! " 
 
 " What ! Grant surrendered ? " thundered the 
 line, with muskets at a trail as it rushed into the 
 open. 
 
 " No, you blasted fools — we've surrendered," 
 shouted the voice, rising hoarsely in a gasping in- 
 dignation. 
 
 " Surrendered, the deuce ! " scoffed the men, as 
 
In the Hour of Defeat 477 
 
 they fell back into ranks. " I'd like to know what 
 General Lee will think of your surrender ? " 
 
 A little Colonel, with his hand at his sword hilt, 
 strutted up and down before a tangle of dead 
 thistles. 
 
 " I don't know what he thinks of it, he did it," he 
 shrieked, without pausing in his walk. 
 
 " It's a damn lie ! " cried Dan, in a white heat. 
 Then he threw his musket on the ground, and fell 
 to sobbing the dry tearless sobs of a man who feels 
 his heart crushed by a sudden blow. 
 
 There were tears on all the faces round him, and 
 Pinetop was digging his great fists into his eyes, as 
 a child does who has been punished before his play- 
 mates. Beside him a man with an untrimmed 
 shaggy beard hid his distorted features in shaking 
 hands. 
 
 " I ain't blubberin' fur myself," he said defiantly, 
 " but — O Lord, boys — I'm cryin' fur Marse 
 Robert." 
 
 Over the field the beaten soldiers, in ragged gray 
 uniforms, were lying beneath little bushes of sassa- 
 fras and sumach, and to the right a few campfires 
 were burning in a shady thicket. The struggle was 
 over, and each man had fallen where he stood, 
 hopeless for the first time in four long years. Up 
 and down the road groups of Federal horsemen 
 trotted with cheerful unconcern, and now and then 
 a private paused to make a remark in friendly tones ; 
 but the men beneath the bushes only stared with 
 hollow eyes in answer — the blank stare of the de- 
 feated who have put their whole strength into the 
 fight. 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 21 
 
47 8 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Taking out his jack-knife, Dan unfastened the 
 flag from the hickory pole on which he had placed 
 it, and began cutting it into little pieces, which he 
 passed to each man who had fought beneath its 
 folds. The last bit he put into his own pocket, and 
 trembling like one gone suddenly palsied, passed 
 from the midst of his silent comrades to a pine 
 stump on the border of the woods. Here he sat 
 down and looked hopelessly upon the scene before 
 him — upon the littered roads and the great blue 
 lines encircling the horizon. 
 
 So this was the end, he told himself, with a bit- 
 terness that choked him like a grip upon the throat, 
 this the end of his boyish ardour, his dream of 
 fame upon the battle-field, his four years of daily 
 sacrifice and suffering. This was the end of the 
 flag for which he was ready to give his life three 
 days ago. With his youth, his strength, his very 
 bread thrown into the scale, he sat now with wrecked 
 body and blighted mind, and saw his future turn to 
 decay before his manhood was well begun. Where 
 was the old buoyant spirit he had brought with 
 him into the fight? Gone forever, and in its place 
 he found his maimed and trembling hands, and 
 limbs weakened by starvation as by long fever. 
 His virile youth was wasted in the slow struggle, 
 his energy was sapped drop by drop ; and at the last 
 he saw himself burned out like the battle-fields, 
 where the armies had closed and opened, leaving 
 an impoverished and ruined soil. He had given 
 himself for four years, and yet when the end came 
 he had not earned so much as an empty title to take 
 home for his reward. The consciousness of a hard- 
 
In the Hour of Defeat 479 
 
 fought fight was but the common portion of them 
 all, from the greatest to the humblest on either 
 side. As for him he had but done his duty like 
 his comrades in the ranks, and by what right of 
 merit should he have raised himself above their 
 heads? Yes, this was the end, and he meant to 
 face it standing with his back against the wall. 
 
 Down the road a line of Federal privates came 
 driving an ox before them, and he eyed them 
 gravely, wondering in a dazed way if the taste 
 of victory had gone to their heads. Then he turned 
 slowly, for a voice was speaking at his side, and 
 a tall man in a long blue coat was building a little 
 fire hard by. 
 
 " Your stomach's pretty empty, ain't it, Johnny ? " 
 he inquired, as he laid the sticks crosswise with pre- 
 cise movements, as if he had measured the length 
 of each separate piece of wood. He was lean and 
 rawboned, with a shaggy red moustache and a 
 wart on his left cheek. When he spoke he showed 
 an even row of strong white teeth. 
 
 Dan looked at him with a kind of exhausted in- 
 dignation. 
 
 " Well, it's been emptier," he returned shortly. 
 
 The man in blue struck a match and held it care- 
 fully to a dried pine branch, watching, with a serious 
 face, as the flame licked the rosin from the crossed 
 sticks. Then he placed a quart pot full of water 
 on the coals, and turned to meet Dan's eyes, which 
 had grown ravenous as he caught the scent of 
 beef. 
 
 . " You see we somehow thought you Johnnies- 
 would be hard up," he said in an offhand manner, 
 
480 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " so we made up our minds we'd ask you to dinner 
 and cut our rations square. Some of us are driv- 
 ing over an ox from camp, but as I was hanging 
 round and saw you all by yourself on this old 
 stump, I had a feeling that you were in need of a 
 cup of coffee. You haven't tasted real coffee for 
 some time, I guess." 
 
 The water was bubbling over and he measured 
 out the coffee and poured it slowly into the quart 
 cup. As the aroma filled the air, he opened his 
 haversack and drew out a generous supply of raw 
 beef which he broiled on little sticks, and laid on 
 a spread of army biscuits. The larger share he 
 offered to Dan with the steaming pot of coffee. 
 
 " I declare it'll do me downright good to see 
 you eat," he said, with a hospitable gesture. 
 
 Dan sat down beside the bread and beef, and, for 
 the next ten minutes, ate like a famished wolf, 
 while the man in blue placidly regarded him. When 
 he had finished he took out a little bag of Virginian 
 tobacco and they smoked together beside the wan- 
 ing fire. A natural light returned gradually to 
 Dan's eyes, and while the clouds of smoke rose 
 high above the bushes, they talked of the last 
 great battles as quietly as of the Punic Wars. It 
 was all dead now, as dead as history, and the men 
 who fought had left the bitterness to the camp fol- 
 lowers or to the ones who stayed at home. 
 
 " You have fine tobacco down this way," observed 
 the Union soldier, as he refilled his pipe, and 
 lighted it with an ember. Then his gaze followed 
 Dan's, which was resting on the long blue lines that 
 stretched across the landscape. 
 
In the Hour of Defeat 481 
 
 " You're feeling right bad about us now," he pur- 
 sued, as he crossed his legs and leaned back 
 against a pine, " and I guess it's natural, but the 
 time will come when you'll know that we weren't 
 the worst you had to face." 
 
 Dan held out his hand with something of a 
 smile. 
 
 " It was a fair fight and I can shake hands," he 
 responded. 
 
 " Well, I don't mean that," said the other thought- 
 fully. " What I mean is just this, you mark my 
 words — after the battle comes the vultures. After 
 the army of fighters comes the army of those who 
 haven't smelled the powder. And in time you'll 
 learn that it isn't the man with the rifle that does 
 the most of the mischief. The damned coffee boil- 
 ers will get their hands in now — I know 'em." 
 
 " Well, there's nothing left, I suppose, but to 
 swallow it down without any fuss," said Dan 
 wearily, looking over the field where the slaughtered 
 ox was roasting on a hundred bayonets at a hun- 
 dred fires. 
 
 " You're right, that's the only thing," agreed 
 the man in blue; then his keen gray eyes were on 
 Dan's face. 
 
 " Have you got a wife ? " he asked bluntly. 
 
 Dan shook his head as he stared gravely at the 
 embers. 
 
 " A sweetheart, I guess ? I never met a Johnnie 
 who didn't have a sweetheart." 
 
 " Yes, I've a sweetheart — God bless Her ! " 
 
 " Well, you take my advice and go home and 
 tell her to cure you, now she's got the chance. I 
 
482 The Battle-Ground 
 
 like your face, young man, but if I ever saw a half- 
 starved and sickly one, it is yours. Why, I shouldn't 
 have thought you had the strength to raise your 
 rifle." 
 
 " Oh, it doesn't take much strength for that ; 
 and besides the coffee did me good, I was only 
 hungry." 
 
 " Hungry, hump ! " grunted the Union soldier. 
 " It takes more than hunger to give a man that blue 
 look about the lips ; it takes downright starvation." 
 He dived into his haversack and drew out a quinine 
 pill and a little bottle of whiskey. 
 
 " If you'll just chuck this down it won't do you 
 any harm," he went on, " and if I were you, I'd 
 find a shelter before I went to sleep to-night; you 
 can't trust April weather. Get into that cow shed 
 over there or under a wagon." 
 
 Dan swallowed the quinine and the whiskey, and 
 as the strong spirit fired his veins, the utter hope- 
 lessness of his outlook muffled him into silence. 
 Dropping his head into his open palms, he sat 
 dully staring at the whitening ashes. 
 
 After a moment the man in blue rose to his feet 
 and fastened his haversack. 
 
 " I live up by Bethlehem, New Hampshire," he 
 remarked, " and if you ever come that way, I hope 
 you'll look me up ; my name's Moriarty." 
 
 " Your name's Moriarty, I shall remember," re- 
 peated Dan, trying, with a terrible effort, to steady 
 his quivering limbs. 
 
 " jim Moriarty, don't you forget it. Anybody at 
 Bethlehem can tell you about me ; I keep the big- 
 gest store around there." He went off a few steps 
 
In the Hour of Defeat 483 
 
 and then came back to hold out an awkward hand 
 in which there was a little heap of silver. 
 
 " You'd just better take this to start you on your 
 way," he said, " it ain't but ninety-five cents — I 
 couldn't make out the dollar — and when you get 
 it in again you can send it to Jim Moriarty at Beth- 
 lehem, New Hampshire. Good-by, and good luck 
 to you this time." 
 
 He strode off across the field, and Dan, with the 
 silver held close in his palm, flung himself back 
 upon the ground and slept until Pinetop woke him 
 with a grasp upon his shoulder. 
 
 " Marse Robert's passin' along the road," he 
 said. " You'd better hurry." 
 
 Struggling to his feet Dan rushed from the woods 
 across the deserted field, to the lines of conquered 
 soldiers standing in battle ranks upon the road- 
 side. Between them the Commander had passed 
 slowly on his dapple gray horse, and when Dan 
 joined the ranks it was only in time to see him 
 ride onward at a walk, with the bearded soldiers 
 clinging like children to his stirrups. A group of 
 Federal cavalrymen, drawn up beneath a persimmon 
 tree, uncovered as he went by, and he returned the 
 salute with a simple gesture. Lonely, patient, con- 
 firmed in courtesy, he passed on his way, and his 
 little army returned to camp in the strip of pines. 
 
 " ' I've done my best for you,' that's what he 
 said," sobbed Pinetop. " ' I've done my best for 
 you,' — and I kissed old Traveller's mane." 
 
 Without replying, Dan went back into the woods 
 and flung himself down on the spread of tags. 
 Xow that the fight was over all the exhaustion of 
 
484 The Battle-Ground 
 
 the last four years, the weakness after many battles, 
 the weariness after the long marches, had gathered 
 with accumulated strength for the final overthrow. 
 
 For three days he remained in camp in the pine 
 woods, and on the third, after waiting six hours in 
 a hard rain outside his General's tent, he secured 
 the little printed slip which signified to all whom it 
 might concern that he had become a prisoner upon 
 his parole. Then, after a sympathetic word to the 
 rest of the division, shivering beneath the sassafras 
 bushes before the tent, he shook hands with his 
 comrades under arms, and started with Pinetop 
 down the muddy road. The war was over, and foot- 
 sore, in rags and with aching limbs, he was return- 
 ing to the little valley where he had hoped to trail 
 his glory. 
 
 Down the long road the gray rain fell straight 
 as a curtain, and on either side tramped the lines 
 of beaten soldiers who were marching, on their 
 word of honour, to their distant homes. The aban- 
 doned guns sunk deep in the mud, the shivering 
 men lying in rags beneath the bushes, and the 
 charred remains of campfires among the trees were 
 the last memories Dan carried from the four years' 
 war. 
 
 Some miles farther on, when the pickets had 
 been passed, a man on a black horse rode suddenly 
 from a little thicket and stopped across their path. 
 
 " You fellows haven't been such darn fools as to 
 give your parole, have you? " he asked in an angry 
 voice, his hand on his horse's neck. " The fight isn't 
 over yet and we want your muskets on our side. 
 I belong to the partisan rangers, and we'll cut 
 
In the Hour of Defeat 485 
 
 through to Johnston's army before daylight. If not, 
 we'll take to the mountains and keep up the war 
 forever. The country is ours, what's to hinder us ? " 
 
 He spoke passionately, and at each sharp excla- 
 mation the black horse rose on his haunches and 
 pawed the air. 
 
 Dan shook his head. 
 
 " I'm out on parole," he replied, " but as soon 
 as I'm exchanged, I'll fight if Virginia wants me. 
 How about you, Pinetop ? " 
 
 The mountaineer shuffled his feet in the mud and 
 stood solemnly surveying the landscape. 
 
 " Wall, I don't understand much about this here 
 parole business," he replied. " It seems to me that 
 a slip of paper with printed words on it that I 
 have to spell out as I go, is a mighty poor way 
 to keep a man from fightin' if he can find a musket. 
 I ain't steddyin' about this parole, but Marse Robert 
 told me to go home to plant my crop, and I am 
 goin' home to plant it." 
 
 " It is all over, I think," said Dan with a quiv- 
 ering lip, as he stared at the ruined meadows. The 
 smart was still fresh, and it was too soon for him to 
 add, with the knowledge that would come to him 
 from years, — " it is better so." Despite the grim 
 struggle and the wasted strength, despite the im- 
 poverished land and the nameless graves that filled 
 it, despite even his own wrecked youth and the 
 hard- fought fields where he had laid it down — 
 despite all these a shadow was lifted from his people 
 and it was worth the price. 
 
 They passed on, while the black horse pawed 
 the dust, and the rider hurled oaths at their retreat" 
 
486 The Battle- Ground 
 
 ing figures. At a little house a few yards down 
 the road they stopped to ask for food, and found 
 a woman weeping at the kitchen table, with three 
 small children clinging to her skirts. Her husband 
 had fallen at Five Forks, she said, the safe was 
 empty, and the children were crying for bread. 
 Then Dan slipped into her hand the silver he had 
 borrowed from the Union soldier, and the two re- 
 turned penniless to the road. 
 
 " At least we are men," he said almost apologet- 
 ically to Pinetop, and the next instant turned 
 squarely in the mud, for a voice from the other 
 side had called out shrilly : — 
 
 " Hi, Marse Dan, whar you gwine now ? " 
 
 " Bless my soul, it's Big Abel," he exclaimed. 
 
 Black as a spade and beaming with delight, the 
 negro emerged from the swarm upon the roadside 
 and grasped Dan's outstretched hands. 
 
 " Whar you gwine dis away, Marse Dan ? " he in- 
 quired again. 
 
 " I'm going home, Big Abel," responded Dan, 
 as they walked on in a row of three. " No, don't 
 shout, you scamp ; I'd rather lie down and die upon 
 the roadside than go home like this." 
 
 " Well, you ain' much to look at, dat's sho'," re- 
 plied Big Abel, his face shining like polished ebony, 
 " en I ain' much to look at needer, but dey'll have 
 ter recollect de way we all wuz befo' we runned 
 away ; dey'll have ter recollect you in yo' fine shuts 
 en fancy waistcoats, en dey'll have ter recollect me 
 in yo' ole uns. Sakes alive! I kin see dat one er 
 yourn wid de little bit er flow'rs all over hit des es 
 plain es ef 'twuz yestiddy." 
 
In the Hour of Defeat 487 
 
 " The waistcoats are all gone now," said Dan 
 gravely, " and so are the shirts. The war is over 
 and you are your own master, Big Abel. You 
 don't belong to me from this time on." 
 
 Big Abel shook his head grinning. 
 
 " I reckon hit's all de, same," he remarked cheer- 
 fully, " en I reckon we'd es well be gwine on home, 
 Marse Dan." 
 
 " I reckon we would," said Dan and they pushed 
 on in silence. 
 
X 
 
 ON THE MARCH AGAIN 
 
 That night they slept on the blood-stained floor 
 of an old field hospital, and the next morning Pine- 
 top parted from them and joined an engineer who 
 had promised him a " lift " toward his mountains. 
 
 As Dan stood in the sunny road holding his 
 friend's rough hand, it seemed to him that such a 
 parting was the sharpest wrench the end had 
 brought. 
 
 " Whenever you need me, old fellow, remem- 
 ber that I am always ready," he said in a husky 
 voice. 
 
 Pinetop looked past him to the distant woods, 
 and his calm blue eyes were dim. 
 
 " I reckon you'll go yo' way an' I'll go mine," 
 he replied, " for thar's one thing sartain an' that is 
 our ways don't run together. It'll never be the 
 4(; same agin — that's natur — but if you ever want a 
 good stout hand for any uphill ploughing or shoot 
 yo' man an' the police git on yo' track, jest remember 
 that I'm up thar in my little cabin. Why, if every 
 officer in the county was at yo' heels, I'd stand guard 
 with my old squirrel gun and maw would with her 
 kettle." 
 
 Then he shook hands with Big Abel and strode 
 on across a field to a little railway station, while 
 
On the March Again 489 
 
 Dan went slowly down the road with the negro at 
 his side. 
 
 In the afternoon when they had trudged all the 
 morning through the heavy mud, they reached a 
 small frame house set back from the road, with 
 some straggling ailanthus shoots at the front and a 
 pile of newly cut hickory logs near the kitchen 
 steps. A woman, with a bucket of soapsuds at her 
 feet, was wringing out a homespun shirt in the yard, 
 and as they entered the little gate, she looked at 
 them with a defiance which was evidently the re- 
 sult of a late domestic wrangle. 
 
 " I've got one man on my hands," she began in 
 a shrill voice, " an' he's as much as I can 'tend to, 
 an' a long sight mo' than I care to 'tend to. He 
 never had the spunk to fight anythin' except his 
 wife, but I reckon he's better off now than them 
 that had ; it's the coward that gets the best of things 
 in these days." 
 
 " Shut up thar, you hussy ! " growled a voice 
 from the kitchen, and a fat man with bleared eyes 
 slouched to the doorway. " I reckon if you want a 
 supper you can work for it," he remarked, taking 
 a wad of tobacco from his mouth and aiming it 
 deliberately at one of the ailanthus shoots. " You 
 split up that thar pile of logs back thar an' Sally'll 
 cook yo' supper. Thar ain't another house inside 
 of a good ten miles, so you'd better take your 
 chance, I reckon." 
 
 " That's jest like you, Tom Bates," retorted the 
 woman passionately. " Befo' you'd do a lick of 
 honest work you'd let the roof topple plum down 
 upon our heads." 
 
490 The Battle-Ground 
 
 For an instant Dan's glance cut the man like a 
 whip, then crossing to the woodpile, he lifted the 
 axe and sent it with a clean stroke into a hickory 
 log. 
 
 " We can't starve, Big Abel," he said coolly, " but 
 we are not beggars yet by a long way." 
 
 " Go 'way, Marse Dan," protested the negro in 
 disgust. " Gimme dat ar axe en set right down 
 and wait twel supper. You're des es white es a 
 sheet dis minute." 
 
 " I've got to begin some day," returned Dan, as 
 the axe swung back across his shoulder. " I'll pay 
 for my supper and you'll pay for yours, that's fair, 
 isn't it ? — for you're a free man now." 
 
 Then he went feverishly to work, while Big Abel 
 sat grumbling on the doorstep, and the farmer, lean- 
 ing against the lintel behind him, watched the 
 lessening pile with sluggish eyes. 
 
 " You be real careful of this wood, Sally, an' 
 it ought to last twel summer," he observed, as he 
 glanced to where his wife stood wringing out the 
 clothes. " If you warn't so wasteful that last pile 
 would ha' held out twice as long." 
 
 Dan chopped steadily for an hour, and then giv- 
 ing the axe to Big Abel, went into the little kitchen 
 to eat his supper. The woman served him sullenly, 
 placing some sobby biscuits and a piece of cold 
 bacon on his plate, and pouring out a glass of 
 buttermilk with a vicious thrust of the pitcher. 
 When he asked if there was a shelter close at hand 
 where he might sleep, she replied sourly that she 
 reckoned the barn was good enough if he chose to 
 spend the night there. Then as Big Abel finished 
 
On the March Again 491 
 
 his job and took his supper in his hand, they left 
 the house and went across the darkening cattle 
 pen, to a rotting structure which they took to be 
 the barn. Inside the straw was warm and dry, 
 and as Dan flung himself down upon it, he gasped 
 out something like a prayer of thanks. His first 
 day's labour with his hands had left him trembling 
 like a nervous woman. An hour longer, he told 
 himself, and he should have gone down upon the 
 roadside. 
 
 For a time he slept profoundly, and then awaking 
 in the night, he lay until dawn listening to Big 
 Abel's snores, and staring straight above where a 
 solitary star shone through a crack in the shingled 
 roof. From the other side of a thin partition came 
 the soft breathing and the fresh smell of cows, 
 and, now and then, he heard the low bleating of a 
 new-born calf. 
 
 He had been dreaming of a battle, and the impres- 
 sion was so vivid that, as he opened his eyes, he half 
 imagined he still heard the sound of shots. In his 
 sleep he had saved the flag and won promotion 
 after victory, and for a moment the trampled 
 straw seemed to him to be the battle-field, and the 
 thin boards against which he beat the enemy's re- 
 sisting line. As he came slowly to himself a sud- 
 den yearning for the army awoke within him. He 
 wanted the red campfires and his comrades smok- 
 ing against the dim pines ; the peaceful bivouac 
 where the long shadows crept among the trees and 
 two men lay wrapped together beneath every 
 blanket; above all, he wanted to see the Southern 
 Cross wave in the sunlight, and to hear the charg- 
 
49 2 The Battle- Ground 
 
 ing yell as the brigade dashed into the open. He 
 was homesick for it all to-night, and yet it was dead 
 forever — dead as his own youth which he had 
 given to the cause. 
 
 Sharp pains racked him from head to foot, and 
 his pulses burned as if from fever. It was like 
 the weariness of old age, he thought, this utter 
 hopelessness, these strained and quivering muscles. 
 As a boy he had been hardy as an Indian and 
 as fearless of fatigue. Now the long midnight 
 gallops on Prince Rupert over frozen roads re- 
 turned to him like the dim memories from some 
 old romance. They belonged to the place of half- 
 forgotten stories, with the gay waistcoats and the 
 Christmas gatherings in the hall at Chericoke. 
 For a country that was not he had given himself as 
 surely as the men who were buried where they 
 fought, and his future would be but one long 
 struggle to adjust himself to conditions in which 
 he had no part. His proper nature was compacted 
 of the old life which was gone forever — of its ease, 
 of its gayety, of its lavish pleasures. For the 
 sake of this life he had fought for four years in 
 the ranks, and now that it was swept away, he 
 found himself like a man who stumbles on over 
 the graves of his familiar friends. He remem- 
 bered the words of the soldier in the long blue coat, 
 and spoke them half aloud in the darkness: 
 " There'll come a time when you'll find out that 
 the army wasn't the worst you had to face." The 
 army was not the worst, he knew this now — the 
 grapple with a courageous foe had served to 
 quicken his pulses and nerve his hand — the worst 
 
On the March Again 493 
 
 was what came afterward, this sense of utter failure 
 and the attempt to shape one's self to brutal neces- 
 sity. In the future that opened before him he 
 saw only a terrible patience which would perhaps 
 grow into a second nature as the years went on. 
 In place of the old generous existence, he must 
 from this day forth wring the daily bread of those 
 he loved, with maimed hands, from a wasted soil. 
 
 The thought of Betty came to him, but it brought 
 no consolation. For himself he could meet the 
 shipwreck standing, but Betty must be saved from 
 it if there was salvation to be found. She had 
 loved him in the days of his youth — in his strong 
 days, as the Governor said — now that he was 
 worn out, suffering, gray before his time, there was 
 mere madness in his thought of her buoyant 
 strength. " You may take ten — you may take 
 twenty years to rebuild yourself," a surgeon had said 
 to him at parting ; and he asked himself bitterly, by 
 what right of love dared he make her strong youth a 
 prop for his feeble life ? She loved him he knew — 
 in his blackest hour he never doubted this — but be- 
 cause she loved him, did it follow that she must 
 be sacrificed? 
 
 Then gradually the dark mood passed, and with 
 his eyes on the star, his mouth settled into the 
 lines of smiling patience which suffering brings to 
 the brave. He had never been a coward and he 
 was not one now. The years had taught him noth- 
 ing if they had not taught him the wisdom most 
 needed by his impulsive youth — that so long as 
 there comes good to the meanest creature from fate's 
 hardest blow, it is the part of a man to stand up 
 
494 The Battle- Ground 
 
 and take it between the eyes. In the midst of his 
 own despair, of the haunting memories of that 
 bland period which was over for his race, there 
 arose suddenly the figure of the slave the Major 
 had rescued, in Dan's boyhood, from the power of 
 old Rainy-day Jones. He saw again the poor black 
 wretch shivering in the warmth, with the dirty rag 
 about his jaw, and with the sight he drew a breath 
 that was almost of relief. That one memory had 
 troubled his own jovial ease; now in his approach- 
 ing poverty he might put it away from him for- 
 ever. 
 
 In the first light of a misty April sunrise they 
 went out on the road again, and when they had 
 walked a mile or so, Big Abel found some young 
 pokeberry shoots, which he boiled in his old quart 
 cup with a slice of bacon he had saved from supper. 
 At noon they came upon a little farm and ploughed 
 a strip of land in payment for a dinner that was 
 lavishly pressed upon them. The people were plain, 
 poor, and kindly, and the farmer followed Dan into 
 the field with entreaties that he should leave the 
 furrows and come in. to meet his family. " Let yo' 
 darky do a bit of work if he wants to," he urged, 
 " but it makes me downright sick to see one of Gen- 
 eral Lee's soldiers driving my plough. The gals 
 are afraid it'll bring bad luck." 
 
 With a laugh, Dan tossed the ropes to Big Abel, 
 who had been breaking clods of earth, and re- 
 turned to the house, where he was placed in the seat 
 of honour and waited on by a troop of enthusiastic 
 red-cheeked maidens, each of whom cut one of the 
 remaining buttons from his coat. Here he was 
 
On the March Again 495 
 
 asked to stay the night, but with the memory of the 
 blue valley before his eyes, he shook his head and 
 pushed on again in the early afternoon. The vision 
 of Chericoke hung like a star above his road, and 
 he struggled a little nearer day by day. 
 
 Sometimes ploughing, sometimes chopping a pile 
 of logs, and again lying for hours in the warm grass 
 by the way, they travelled slowly toward the valley 
 that held Dan's desire. The chill April dawns 
 broke over them, and the genial April sunshine 
 warmed them through after a drenching in a pearly 
 shower. They watched the buds swell and the 
 leaves open in the wood, the wild violets bloom in 
 sheltered places, and the dandelions troop in ranks 
 among the grasses by the road. Dan, halting to 
 rest in the mild weather, would fall often into a 
 revery long and patient, like those of extreme old 
 age. With the sun shining upon his relaxed body 
 and his eyes on the bright dust that floated in the 
 slanting beams, he would lie for hours speechless, 
 absorbed, filled with visions. One day he found 
 a mountain laurel flowering in the woods, and gath- 
 ering a spray he sat with it in his hands and 
 dreamed of Betty. When Big Abel touched him 
 on the arm he turned with a laugh and struggled to 
 his feet. " I was resting," he explained, as they 
 walked on. " It is good to rest like that in mind 
 and body ; to keep out thoughts and let the dreams 
 come as they will." 
 
 " De bes' place ter res' is on yo' own do' step," 
 Big Abel responded, and quickening their pace, they 
 went more rapidly over the rough clay roads. 
 
 It was at the end of this day that they came, in 
 
496 The Battle-Ground 
 
 the purple twilight, to a big brick house and found 
 there a woman who lived alone with the memories 
 of a son she had lost at Gettysburg. At their 
 knock she came herself, with a few old servants, 
 prompt, tearful, and very sad ; and when she saw 
 Dan's coat by the light of the lamp behind her, she 
 put out her hands with a cry of welcome and drew 
 him in, weeping softly as her white head touched 
 his sleeve. 
 
 " My mother is dead, thank God," he murmured, 
 and at his words she looked up at him a little 
 startled. 
 
 " Others have come," she said, " but they were 
 not like you; they did not have your voice. Have 
 you been always poor like this ? " 
 
 He met her eyes smiling. 
 
 " I have not always been a soldier," was his 
 answer. 
 
 For a moment she looked at him as if bewil- 
 dered ; then taking a lamp from an old servant, she 
 led the way upstairs to her son's room, and laid 
 out the dead man's clothes upon his bed. 
 
 " We keep house for the soldiers now," she said, 
 and went out to make things ready. 
 
 As he plunged into the warm water and dried 
 himself upon the fresh linen she had left, he heard 
 the sound of passing feet in the broad hall, and 
 from the outside kitchen there floated a savoury 
 smell that reminded him of Chericoke at the sup- 
 per hour. With the bath and the clean clothes his 
 old instincts revived within him, and as he looked 
 into the glass he caught something of the likeness of 
 his college days. Beau Montjoy was not starved out 
 
On the March Again 497 
 
 after all, he thought with a laugh, he was only plas- 
 tered over with malaria and dirt. 
 
 For three days he remained in the big brick house 
 lying at ease upon a sofa in the library, or listening 
 to the tragic voice of the mother who talked of 
 her only son. When she questioned him about 
 Pickett's charge, he raised himself on his pillows 
 and talked excitedly, his face flushing as if from 
 fever. 
 
 " Your son was with Armistead," he said, " and 
 they all went down like heroes. I can see old 
 Armistead now with his hat on his sword's point 
 as he waved to us through the smoke. ' Who will 
 follow me, boys ? ' he cried, and the next instant 
 dashed straight on the defences. When he got to 
 the second line there were only six men with him, 
 beside Colonel Martin, and your son was one of 
 them. My God! it was worth living to die like 
 that." 
 
 " And it is worth living to have a son die like 
 that," she added, and wept softly in the stillness. 
 
 The next morning he went on again despite her 
 prayers. The rest was all too pleasant, but the 
 memory of his valley was before him, and he 
 thirsted for the pure winds that blew down the long 
 white turnpike. 
 
 " There is no peace for me until I see it again," 
 he said at parting, and with a lighter step went 
 out upon the April roads once more. 
 
 The way was easier now for his limbs were 
 stronger, and he wore the dead man's shoes upon 
 his feet. For a time it almost seemed that the 
 strength of that other soldier, who lay in a strange 
 
49 8 The Battle-Ground 
 
 soil, had entered into his veins and made him 
 hardier to endure. And so through the clear days 
 they travelled with few pauses, munching as they 
 walked from the food Big Abel carried in a basket 
 on his arm. 
 
 " We've been coming for three weeks, and we are 
 getting nearer," said Dan one evening, as he climbed 
 the spur of a mountain range at the hour of sunset. 
 Then his glance swept the wide horizon, and the stick 
 in his hand fell suddenly to the ground ; for faint and 
 blue and bathed in the sunset light he saw his own 
 hills crowding against the sky. As he looked his 
 heart swelled with tears, and turning away he 
 covered his quivering face. 
 
XI 
 
 THE RETURN 
 
 As they passed from the shadow of the tavern 
 road, the afternoon sunlight was slanting across the 
 turnpike from the friendly hills, which alone of all 
 the landscape remained unchanged. Loyal, smiling, 
 guarding the ruined valley like peaceful sentinels, 
 they had suffered not so much as an added wrinkle 
 upon their brows. As Dan had left them five long 
 years ago, so he found them now, and his heart 
 leaped as he stood at last face to face. He was like 
 a man who, having hungered for many days, finds 
 himself suddenly satisfied again. 
 
 Amid a blur of young foliage they saw first the 
 smoking chimneys of Uplands, and then the Doric 
 columns beyond a lane of flowering lilacs. The 
 stone wall had crumbled in places, and strange 
 weeds were springing up among the high blue-grass ; 
 but here and there beneath the maples he caught a 
 glimpse of small darkies uprooting the intruders, 
 and beyond the garden, in the distant meadows, 
 ploughmen were plodding back and forth in the 
 purple furrows. Peace had descended here at least, 
 and, with a smile, he detected Betty's abounding 
 energy in the moving spirit of the place. He saw 
 her in the freshly swept walks, in the small negroes 
 weeding tb~. blue-grass lawn, in the distant ploughs 
 499 
 
500 The Battle-Ground 
 
 that made blots upon the meadows. For a moment 
 he hesitated, and laid his hand upon the iron gate; 
 then, stifling the temptation, he turned back into the 
 white sand of the road. Before he met Betty's eyes, 
 he meant that his peace should be made with the old 
 man at Chericoke. 
 
 Big Abel, tramping at his side, opened his mouth 
 from time to time to let out a rapturous exclama- 
 tion. 
 
 " Dar 'tis ! des look at it ! " he chuckled, when 
 Uplands had been left far behind them. " Dat's de 
 ve'y same clump er cedars, en dat's de wiP cher'y 
 lyin' right flat on hit's back — dey's done cut it down 
 ter git de cher'ies." 
 
 " And the locust ! Look, the big locust tree is 
 still there, and in full bloom ! " 
 
 " Lawd, de 'simmons ! Dar's de 'simmon tree 
 way down yonder in the meadow, whar we all use 
 ter set ouah ole hyar traps. You ain' furgot dose ole 
 hyar traps, Marse Dan ? " 
 
 " Forgotten them ! good Lord ! " said Dan ; " why 
 I remember we caught five one Christmas morning, 
 and Betty fed them and set them free again." 
 
 " Dat she did, suh, dat she did ! Hit's de gospel 
 trufe ! " 
 
 " We never could hide our traps from Betty," 
 pursued Dan, in delight. " She was a regular fox 
 for scenting them out — I never saw such a nose 
 for traps as hers, and she always set the things loose 
 and smashed the doors." 
 
 " We hid 'em one time way way in de thicket by 
 de ice pond," returned Big Abel, " but she spied 'em 
 out. Yes, Lawd, she spied 'em out fo' ouah backs 
 wuz turnt." 
 
The Return 501 
 
 He talked on rapidly while Dan listened with a 
 faint smile about his mouth. Since they had left the 
 tavern road, Big Abel's onward march had been ac- 
 companied by ceaseless ejaculations. His joy was 
 childlike, unrestrained, full of whimsical surprises 
 — the flight of a bluebird or the recognition of a 
 shrub beside the way sent him with shining eyes 
 and quickened steps along the turnpike. 
 
 From free Levi's cabin, which was still standing, 
 though a battle had raged in the fallen woods be- 
 yond it, and men had fought and been buried within 
 a stone's throw of the doorstep, they heard the 
 steady falling of a hammer and caught the red glow 
 from the rude forge at which the old negro worked. 
 With the half-forgotten sound, Dan returned as if 
 in a vision to his last night at Chericoke, when he 
 had run off in his boyish folly, with free Levi's ham- 
 mer beating in his ears. Then he had dreamed of 
 coming back again, but not like this. He had meant 
 to ride proudly up the turnpike, with his easily won 
 honours on his head, and in his hands his magnani- 
 mous forgiveness for all who had done him wrong. 
 On that day he had pictured the Governor hurrying 
 to the turnpike as he passed, and he had seen 
 his grandfather, shy of apologies, eager to make 
 amends. 
 
 That was his dream, and to-day he came back 
 footsore, penniless, and in a dead man's clothes — a 
 beggar as he had been at his first home-coming, when 
 he had stood panting on the threshold and clutched 
 his little bundle in his arms. 
 
 Yet his pulses stirred, and he turned cheerfully to 
 the negro at his side. 
 
 Fiction, Vol. 15 — 22 
 
502 The Battle- Ground 
 
 " Do you see it, Big Abel ? Tell me when you 
 see it." 
 
 " Dar's de cattle pastur 1 ," cried Big Abel, " en 
 dey's been a-fittin' dar — des look." 
 
 " It must have been a skirmish," replied Dan, 
 glancing down the slope. " The wall is all down, 
 and see here," his foot struck on something hard 
 and he stooped and picked up a horse's skull. " I 
 dare say a squad of cavalry met Mosby's rangers," 
 he added. " It looks as if they'd had a little 
 frolic." 
 
 He threw the skull into the pasture, and followed 
 Big Abel, who was hurrying along the road. 
 
 " We're moughty near dar," cried the negro, 
 breaking into a run. " Des wait twel we pass de 
 aspens, Marse Dan, des wait twel we pass de aspens, 
 den we'll be right dar, suh." 
 
 Then, as Dan reached him, the aspens were 
 passed, and where Chericoke had stood they found a 
 heap of ashes. 
 
 At their feet lay the relics of a hot skirmish, and 
 the old elms were perforated with rifle balls, but for 
 these things Dan had neither eyes nor thoughts. He 
 was standing before the place that he called home, 
 and where the hospitable doors had opened he 
 found only a cold mound of charred and crumbled 
 bricks. 
 
 For an instant the scene went black before his 
 eyes, and as he staggered forward, Big Abel caught 
 his arm. 
 
 " I'se hyer, Marse Dan, I'se hyer," groaned the 
 negro in his ear. 
 
 " But the others ? Where are the others ? " asked 
 
The Return 503 
 
 Dan, coming to himself. " Hold me, Big Abel, I'm 
 an utter fool. O Congo ! Is that Congo ? " 
 
 A negro, coming with his hoe from the corn field, 
 ran over the desolated lawn, and began shouting 
 hoarsely to the hands behind him : — 
 
 " Hi ! Hit's Marse Dan, hit's Marse Dan come 
 back agin ! " he yelled, and at the cry there flocked 
 round him a little troop of faithful servants, weep- 
 ing, shouting, holding out eager arms. 
 
 " Hi ! hit's Marse Dan ! " they shrieked in chorus. 
 "Hit's Marse Dan en Brer Abel! Brer Abel en 
 Marse Dan is done come agin ! " 
 
 Dan wept with them — tears of weakness, of an- 
 guish, of faint hope amid the dark. As their hands 
 closed over his, he grasped them as if his eyes had 
 gone suddenly blind. 
 
 " Where are the others ? Congo, for God's sake, 
 tell me where are the others ? " 
 
 "We all's hyer, Marse Dan. We all's hyer," 
 they protested, sobbing. " En Ole Marster en Ole 
 Miss dey's in de house er de overseer — dey's right 
 over dar behine de orchard whar you use ter projick 
 wid de ploughs, en Brer Cupid and Sis Rhody dey's 
 a-gittin' dem dey supper." 
 
 " Then let me go," cried Dan. " Let me go ! " 
 and he started at a run past the gray ruins and the 
 standing kitchen, past the flower garden and the big 
 woodpile, to the orchard and the small frame house 
 of Harris the overseer. 
 
 Big Abel kept at his heels, panting, grunting, call- 
 ing upon his master to halt and upon Congo to 
 hurry after. 
 
 " You'll skeer dem ter deaf — you'll skeer Ole 
 
504 The Battle-Ground 
 
 Miss ter deaf," cried Congo from the rear, and 
 drawing a trembling breath, Dan slackened his pace 
 and went on at a walk. At last, when he reached 
 the small frame house and put his foot upon the 
 step, he hesitated so long that Congo slipped ahead 
 of him and softly opened the door. Then his young 
 master followed and stood looking with blurred 
 eyes into the room. 
 
 Before a light blaze which burned on the hearth, 
 the Major was sitting in an arm chair of oak splits, 
 his eyes on the blossoming apple trees outside, and 
 above his head, the radiant image of Aunt Emme- 
 line, painted as Venus in a gown of amber brocade. 
 All else was plain and clean — the well-swept floor, 
 the burnished andirons, the cupboard filled with 
 rows of blue and white china — but that one glow- 
 ing figure lent a festive air to the poorly furnished 
 room, and enriched with a certain pomp the tired 
 old man, dozing, with bowed white head, in the rude 
 arm chair. It was the one thing saved from the 
 ashes — the one vestige of a former greatness that 
 still remained. 
 
 As Dan stood there, a clock on the mantel struck 
 the hour, and the Major turned slowly toward 
 him. 
 
 " Bring the lamps, Cupid," he said, though the 
 daylight was still shining. " I don't like the long 
 shadows — bring the lamps." 
 
 Choking back a sob, Dan crossed the floor and 
 knelt down by the chair. 
 
 " We have come back, grandpa," he said. " We 
 beg your pardon, and we have come back — Big 
 Abel and I." 
 
The Return 505 
 
 For a moment the Major stared at him in silence; 
 then he reached out and felt him with shaking hands 
 as if he mistrusted the vision of his eyes. 
 
 " So you're back, Champe, my boy," he mut- 
 tered. " My eyes are bad — I thought at first that it 
 was Dan — that it was Dan." 
 
 " It is I, grandpa," said Dan, slowly. " It is I — 
 and Big Abel, too. We are sorry for it all — for 
 everything, and we have come back poorer than we 
 went away." 
 
 A light broke over the old man's face, and he 
 stretched out his arms with a great cry that filled 
 the room as his head fell forward on his grandson's 
 breast. Then, when Mrs. Lightfoot appeared in 
 the doorway, he controlled himself with a gasp and 
 struggled to his feet. 
 
 " Welcome home, my son," he said ceremoniously, 
 as he put out his quivering hands, " and welcome 
 home, Big Abel." 
 
 The old lady went into Dan's arms as he turned, 
 and looking over her head, he saw Betty coming 
 toward him with a lamp shining in her hand. 
 
 " My child, here is one of our soldiers," cried the 
 Major, in joyful tones, and as the girl placed the 
 lamp upon the table, she turned and met Dan's 
 eyes. 
 
 " It is the second time I've come home like this, 
 Betty," he said, " only I'm a worse beggar now than 
 I was at first." 
 
 Betty shook his hand warmly and smiled into his 
 serious face. 
 
 " I dare say you're hungrier," she responded 
 cheerfully, " but we'll soon mend that, Mrs. Light- 
 
506 The Battle-Ground 
 
 foot and I. We are of one mind with Uncle Bill, 
 who, when Mr. Blake asked him the other day what 
 we ought to do for our returned soldiers, replied as 
 quick as that, ' Feed 'em, sir.' " 
 
 The Major laughed with misty eyes. 
 
 " You can't get Betty to look on the dark side, 
 my boy," he declared, though Dan, watching the 
 girl, saw that her face in repose had grown very sad. 
 Only the old beaming smile brought the brightness 
 now. 
 
 " Well, I hope she will turn up the cheerful part 
 of this outlook," he said, surrendering himself to 
 the noisy welcome of Cupid and Aunt Rhody. 
 
 " We may trust her — we may trust her," replied 
 the old man as he settled himself back into his chair. 
 " If there isn't any sunshine, Betty will make it for 
 us herself." 
 
 Dan met the girl's glance for an instant, and then 
 looked at the old negroes hanging upon his hands. 
 
 " Yes, the prodigal is back," he admitted, laugh- 
 ing, " and I hope the fatted calf is on the crane." 
 
 " Dar's a roas' pig fur ter-morrow,sho's you bo'n," 
 returned Aunt Rhody. " En I'se gwine to stuff 'im 
 full." Then she hurried away to her fire, and Dan 
 threw himself down upon the rug at the Major's 
 feet. 
 
 " Yes, we may trust Betty for the sunshine," re- 
 peated the Major, as if striving to recall his wander- 
 ing thoughts. " She's my overseer now, you know, 
 and she actually looks after both places in less time 
 than poor Harris took to worry along with one, 
 Why, there's not a better farmer in the county." 
 
 "Oh, Major, don't," begged the girl, laughing 
 
The Return 507 
 
 and blushing beneath Dan's eyes. " You mustn't 
 believe him, Dan, he wears rose-coloured glasses 
 when he looks at me." 
 
 " Well, my sight is dim enough for everything 
 else, my dear," confessed the old man sadly. 
 " That's why I have the lamps lighted before the sun 
 goes down — eh, Molly ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot unwrapped her knitting and the 
 ivory kneedles clicked in the firelight. 
 
 " I like to keep the shadows away myself," she 
 responded. " The twilight used to be my favourite 
 hour, but I dread it now, and so does Mr. Light- 
 foot." 
 
 " Well, the war's given us that in common," 
 chuckled the Major, stretching out his feet. " If I 
 remember rightly you once complained that our 
 tastes were never alike, Molly." Then he glanced 
 round with hospitable eyes. " Draw up, my boy, 
 draw up to the fire and tell your story," he added 
 invitingly. " By the time Champe comes home we'll 
 have rich treats in store for the summer evenings." 
 
 Betty was looking at him as he bent over the thin 
 flames, and Dan saw her warm gaze cloud suddenly 
 with tears. He put out his hand and touched hers 
 as it lay on the Major's chair, and when she turned 
 to him she was smiling brightly. 
 
 " Here's Cupid with our supper," she said, going 
 to the table, " and dear Aunt Rhody has actually 
 gotten out her brandied peaches that she kept be- 
 hind her ' jists.' If you ever doubted your welcome, 
 Dan, this must banish it forever." Then as they 
 gathered about the fruits of Aunt Rhody's labours, 
 she talked on rapidly in her cheerful voice. " The 
 
508 The Battle-Ground 
 
 silver has just been drawn up from the bottom of 
 the well," she laughed, " so you mustn't wonder if 
 it looks a little tarnished. There wasn't a piece 
 missing, which is something to be thankful for al- 
 ready, and the port — how many bottles of port did 
 you dig up from the asparagus bed, Uncle Cupid ? " 
 
 " I'se done hoed up 'mos' a dozen," answered 
 Cupid, as he plied Dan with waffles, "en dey ain' all 
 un um up yit." 
 
 " Well, well, we'll have a bottle after supper," re- 
 marked the Major, heartily. 
 
 " If there's anything that's been improved by this 
 war it should be that port, I reckon," said Mrs. 
 Lightfoot, her muslin cap nodding over the high old 
 urns. 
 
 " And Dan's appetite," finished Betty, merrily. 
 
 When they rose from the table, the girl tied on 
 her bonnet of plaited straw and kissed Mrs. Light- 
 foot and the Major. 
 
 " It is almost mamma's supper time," she said, 
 " and I must hurry back. Why, I've been away 
 from her at least two hours." Then she looked at 
 Dan and shook her head. " Don't come," she added, 
 " it is too far for you, and Congo will see me safely 
 home." 
 
 " Well, I'm sorry for Congo, but his day is over," 
 Dan returned, as he took up his hat and followed 
 her out into the orchard. With a last wave to the 
 Major, who watched them from the window, they 
 passed under the blossoming fruit trees and went 
 slowly down the little path, while Betty talked 
 pleasantly of trivial things, cheerful, friendly, and 
 composed. When she had exhausted the spring 
 
The Return 509 
 
 ploughing, the crops still to be planted and the 
 bright May weather, Dan stopped beside the ashes 
 of Chericoke, and looked at her with sombre eyes. 
 
 " Betty, we must have it out," he said abruptly. 
 " I have thought over it until I'm almost mad, and 
 I see but one sensible thing for you to do — you 
 must give me up — my dearest." 
 
 A smile flickered about Betty's mouth. " It has 
 taken you a long time to come to that conclusion," 
 she responded. 
 
 " I hoped until the end — even after I knew that 
 hope was folly and that I was a fool to cling to it. 
 I always meant to come back to you when I got the 
 chance, but not like this — not like this." 
 
 At the pain in his eyes the girl caught her breath 
 with a sob that shook her from head to foot. Pity 
 moved her with a passion stronger than mere love, 
 and she put out her protecting arms with a gesture 
 that would have saved him from the world — or 
 from himself. 
 
 " No, like this, Dan," she answered, with her lips 
 upon his coat. 
 
 He kissed her once and drew back. 
 
 " I never meant to come home this way, Betty," 
 he said, in a voice that trembled from its new hu- 
 mility. 
 
 " My dear, my dear, I have grown to think that 
 any way is a good way," she murmured, her eyes 
 on the blackened pile that had once been Cheri- 
 coke. 
 
 " It is not right," he went on ; " it is not fair. 
 You cannot marry me — you must not." 
 
 Again the humour quivered on the girl's lips. 
 
510 The Battle-Ground 
 
 " I don't like to seem too urgent," she returned, 
 J * but will you tell me why ? " 
 
 " Why ? " he repeated bitterly. " There are a 
 hundred why's if you want them, and each one suf- 
 ficient in itself. I am a beggar, a failure, a wreck, 
 a broken-down soldier from the ranks. Do you 
 think if it were anything less than pure madness on 
 your part that I should stand here a moment and 
 talk like this ? — but because I am in love with you, 
 Betty, it doesn't follow that I'm an utter ass." 
 
 "That's flattering," responded Betty, "but it 
 doesn't explain just what I want to know. Look 
 me straight in the eyes — no evading now — and 
 answer what I ask. Do you mean that we are to be 
 neighbours and nothing more? Do you mean that 
 we are to shake hands when we meet and drop them 
 afterward ? Do you mean that we are to stand alone 
 together as we are standing now — that you are 
 never to take me in your arms again ? Do you mean 
 this, my dear ? " 
 
 "I mean — just that," he answered between his 
 teeth. 
 
 For a moment Betty looked at him with a laugh 
 of disbelief. Then, biting the smile upon her lips, 
 she held out her hand with a friendly gesture. 
 
 " I am quite content that it should be so," she 
 said in a cordial voice. " We shall be very good 
 neighbours, I fancy, and if you have any trouble 
 with your crops, don't hesitate to ask for my ad- 
 vice. I've become an excellent farmer, the Major 
 says, you know." She caught up her long black 
 skirt and walked on, but when he would have fol- 
 lowed, she motioned him back with a decisive little 
 
The Return 51 1 
 
 wave. " You really mustn't — I can't think of al- 
 lowing it," she insisted. " It is putting my neigh- 
 bours to unheard-of trouble to make them see me 
 home. Why, if I once begin the custom, I shall soon 
 have old Rainy-day Jones walking back with me 
 when I go to buy his cows." Still smiling she 
 passed under the battle-scarred elms and stepped 
 over the ruined gate into the road. 
 
 Leaning against a twisted tree in the old drive, 
 Dan watched her until her black dress fluttered be- 
 yond the crumbled wall. Then he gave a cry that 
 checked her hastening feet. 
 
 " Betty ! " he called, and at his voice she turned. 
 
 " What is it, dear friend ? " she asked, and, stand- 
 ing amid the scattered stones, looked back at him 
 with pleading eyes. 
 
 " Betty ! " he cried again, stretching out his arms ; 
 and as she ran toward him, he went down beside the 
 ashes of Chericoke, and lay with his face half hidden 
 against a broken urn. 
 
 " I am coming," called Betty, softly, running 
 over the fallen gate and along the drive. Then, as 
 she reached him, she knelt down and drew him to 
 her bosom, soothing him as a mother soothes a tired 
 child. 
 
 " It shall be as you wish — I shall be as you 
 wish," she promised as she held him close. 
 
 But his strength had come back to him at her 
 touch, and springing to his feet, he caught her from 
 the ground as he had done that day beside the cabin 
 in the woods, kissing her eyelids and her faithful 
 hands. 
 
 " I can't do it, Betty, it's no use, There's still 
 
512 The Battle-Ground 
 
 some fight left in me — I am not utterly beaten so 
 long as I have you on my side." 
 
 With a smile she lifted her face and he caught 
 the strong courage of her look. 
 
 " We will begin again," she said, " and this time, 
 my dear, we will begin together."