"There, I've been selfish and thoughtless," said Captain Bodine, "but I shall see you again, for it will give Ella and me great pleasure to call upon you."
"Yes, indeed, we must meet often," Mara added earnestly. "I hope you are going to make a long stay in Charleston."
"I scarcely know," he replied, and again there was an involuntary sigh; "but I must keep you no longer."
CHAPTER XIV
"ALL GIRLS TOGETHER"
"I'm not going to lose my visit altogether," said Mrs. Bodine, when Mara returned with an apology. "If the captain has only one leg, he can get out and around better than I can. Indeed it is wonderful how he does get around. He is the spryest man on crutches I ever saw, and you know, my dear, I've seen a good many. In that dreadful war we were only too glad to get our men back, what was left of them, and if an arm or a leg were missing we welcomed them all the more, but we couldn't give much more than a welcome. It was wreck and ruin on every side. If we had our own the captain would be well off, as you and I would be, but he is poor; poorer than most of us. In fact, he hasn't anything. He wasn't one of those supple jointed men who could conform to the times, and he wasn't brought up to make his living by thrifty ways. But he did his best, poor boy, he did his best. Would you like to hear more about him?"
"Yes, indeed," Mara replied, "you can't know how deeply I am interested in him and his daughter. He was my father's comrade in arms, his friend and follower. You must pardon me for staying away so long, but when he began talking of my father I felt as if I could listen forever, you know. I honor him all the more because he is poor."
"Yes, my dear, I know. Most of us are learning the hard lessons of poverty. I call him a boy because it seems only the other day he was a boy and a handsome one, too. He used to visit us here, and was so full of fun and frolic! But he has had enough to sober him, poor fellow. He was scarcely more than a boy when the war began, but he was among the first to enlist, and, like your father, he was a private soldier at first. He soon received a commission in the same regiment of which your father became colonel, and no doubt would have reached a much higher rank if he had not lost his leg. He met with this loss before your brave father was killed, but I suppose he told you."
"Yes," faltered Mara, "he told me why he was not with my father at the last."
"Yes, if he could he would have been with him and died with him, and sometimes I almost think he wishes that such had been his fate, he has suffered so much. During the remainder of the war he had command of inland positions which did not require marching, and he always made the record of a brave, high-minded officer. After the war he married a lovely girl, and tried to keep the old plantation: but his capital was gone, taxes were high, the negroes wouldn't work, and I suppose he and his wife didn't know how to practice close economy, and so the place had to be sold. It didn't bring enough to pay the mortgages. It cut him to the quick to part with the old plantation on which the family had lived for generations, but far worse was soon to follow, for his wife died, and that nearly broke his heart. Since that time he has lived in Georgia with his only child, Ella, getting such occupation as he could—office work of various kinds, but I suppose his reserved, gloomy ways rendered him unpopular; and even our own people, when it comes to business, prefer an active man who has a ready word for every one. I conjecture much of this, for he is not inclined to talk about himself. Poor as I am, I'm glad they accepted my invitation, and I mean to do all in my power to get him employment here. I have a little influence yet with some people, and perhaps a place can be found or made for him. He and his daughter don't require very much, and God knows I'd share my last crust with them, and," she concluded with a little apologetic laugh, "it is almost like sharing a crust."