"But you must bear in mind that our cotton is not in New York, but concealed in the depths of a swamp," said his mother; and Rodney afterward had occasion to recall the words when he was working night and day, with Sailor Jack's assistance and Marcy's to keep this cotton out of the hands of rascals, both Union and Confederate, who were trying their best to take it from him by force or to cheat him out of it. This news was so very important that it could be talked of only in whispers; and after the difficulties that lay in the way of getting the cotton into the hands of the traders had been discussed in tones so low that no eavesdropper at the door could have heard a word of it, Mrs. Gray said in her ordinary voice:
"You boys have often spoken of having Northern papers in your possession. Did your officers permit that?"
"Well, no," said Rodney, with a laugh. "It was against orders to look at one of them, and I have seen men triced up by the thumbs for disregarding that order."
"Then how did they get inside our lines?"
"They were taken from dead Yanks, or out of the pockets of prisoners," replied Rodney. "Sometimes they were handed over to an officer, or thrown aside to be picked up by other men who didn't care so much for orders; and those who got them were mighty careful to know who was around when they took them out to read them. Why, mother, I am telling you the gospel truth when I say that all the reliable news we army fellows got was what came to us through the columns of Northern papers, or from the mouths of Northern prisoners. But, as I was saying—$120,000 and over. That's what your cotton is worth, father, and I will take the little farm so as to be where I can see it once in a while."
There were so many questions to be asked and answered that Rodney and Dick scarcely stirred out of the house during the whole of the next day. On the second day they rode out to call upon Ned Griffin and his mother, both of whom shed tears of joy and gratitude when they took Rodney by the hand.
"Yes; thanks to your father's kindness, I am here yet," said Ned, wiping his eyes, which grew misty every time he spoke of his benefactor, "though mercy knows how I am going to pay the debt I shall owe him when the terms of the conscription law are complied with. A hundred pounds of beef and bacon for every darkey on this place, big and little, and beef and bacon worth—worth way up yonder," said Ned, pointing to the ceiling. "It will take me a lifetime to pay it."
"Oh, no, it won't," said Rodney encouragingly, "for if goods are high, your services will command wages in proportion; don't you see?"
"Do you imagine that I will ever charge your father a cent after what he has done for me?" cried Ned indignantly. "I am not that kind of a fellow, and you ought to know it."
"Well, I suppose that is sentiment, but it isn't business," said the practical Rodney. "Now, then, what do you know? Have you the straight of the fights the Home Guards had with those gunboats?"