During the next five minutes we bumped those guns at a gallop over the old cotton rows, until we reached the cover of the woodland.
Whether that little sloop carried one gun or twenty, I never knew. But the rapidity of her fire, as we crossed that old cotton field, convinced me, for the time being, that she carried at least a hundred.
TWO MINUTES
HE spent the evening singing “Lorena.”
He had had a sort of day-off that day, and had visited all of his friends.
The author of that song had made it read:—
“A hundred weeks have passed, Lorena,”
but our guest improved upon that, and made the lover rather aged by singing it:—
“A hundred years have passed, Lorena,
Since last I held thy hand in mine.”