“Horace, for God’s sake, tell me about Carlotta and mother! are they safe?”
“Well, Marse John,” said Horace, with great deliberation, looking at me with love and pride, “Sho nough, dis is you, but you is changed a sight sence I seen you; you’s puttier’n ever.”
But I was in no mood for empty compliments, and led him in the tent almost rudely, as I pointed to a stool, and said:
“Sit down, Horace, and don’t speak another word about any subject till you have told me something of home.”
He shook his head slowly two or three times as he replied:
“U’m—m! dere’s news enough, Marse John, and bad at that.”
“Have the Yankees been at our house yet?” I asked.
“Yes, sir, I should say they has, but they won’t come again—not to the house.”
“Why?” I asked, leaning forward eagerly, “What will prevent them?”
“Dere ‘aint no house for ’em to come to, it’s done burnt clean to de groun’.”