“Oh, you aint got no business to be ashamed of a few tears. I knowed you was a good soldier, befo’ ever we started; I see’ it in yo’ eye. Not as I want to be complimentin’ of you jess now. ‘I come not here to talk,’ as they used to say in school. D’d you ever hear that piece?”
“Yes,” said Mary.
“That’s taken from Romans, aint it?”
“No,” said Mary again, with a broad smile.
“I didn’t know,” said the man; “I aint no brag Bible scholar.” He put on a look of droll modesty. “I used to could say the ten commandments of the decalogue, oncet, and I still tries to keep ’em, in ginerally. There’s another burnt house. That’s the third one we done passed inside a mile. Raiders was along here about two weeks back. Hear that rooster crowin’? When we pass the plantation whar he is and rise the next hill, we’ll be in sight o’ the little town whar we stop for refreshments, as the railroad man says. You must begin to feel jess about everlastin’ly wore out, don’t you?”
“No,” said Mary; but he made a movement of the head to indicate that he had his belief to the contrary.
At an abrupt angle of the road Mary’s heart leaped into her throat to find herself and her companion suddenly face to face with two horsemen in gray, journeying leisurely toward them on particularly good horses. One wore a slouched hat, the other a Federal officer’s cap. They were the first Confederates she had ever seen eye to eye.
“Ride on a little piece and stop,” murmured the spy. The strangers lifted their hats respectfully as she passed them.
“Gents,” said the spy, “good-morning!” He threw a leg over the pommel of his saddle and the three men halted in a group. One of them copied the spy’s attitude. They returned the greeting in kind.
“What command do you belong to?” asked the lone stranger.