“What?” The boy was astounded. “Weren't they all just reg'lar ole cowards, Grandpa?”
“No,” said the grandfather. “They were pretty fine soldiers.”
“They were? Well, they ran away whenever you began shootin' at 'em, didn't they?”
“Sometimes they did, but most times they didn't. Sometimes they fought like wildcats—and sometimes we were the ones that ran away.”
“What for?”
“To keep from getting killed, or maybe to keep from getting captured.”
“But the Rebels were bad men, weren't they, Grandpa?”
“No.”
The boy's forehead, customarily vacant, showed some little vertical shadows, produced by a struggle to think. “Well, but—” he began, slowly. “Listen, Grandpa, listen here!”
“Well?”