"My two boys and son-in-law are off with the South, but I'm not 'countable for them."
"Well, sir, you'll have to prove your loyalty before you get a receipt from me for any amount."
"Prove my loyalty?" he muttered, at the same time looking blank. "What sort of swearin' have you for that?"
"Don't swear him at all, at all," broke in the little Irish Corporal. "Swearing is no substitute for swinging. Faith! he's up to that business. It's mate and drink to him. Make him whistle Yankee Doodle or sing Hail Columbia. Be jabers, it is not in his looks to do it without choking."
Terence's suggestion met with a general laugh of approval. The old fellow, finding himself in a crowd slow to appreciate his claim for damages when his loyalty was at a discount, made off towards his house, a dingy, two-story frame near by, reminded by the Colonel as he left that he would be expected to keep closely within doors while the troops were in that vicinity.
This sovereign of the soil was a fair specimen of the landed gentry of Virginia. "On nary side," as he expressed it, when the Federal troops were in his neighborhood, and yet malignant and dastardly enough to maltreat any sick or wounded Union soldier that
chance might throw into his hands. The less reserved tongues of his daughters told plainly enough where the family stood on the great question of the day. But while they recounted to some of the junior officers who were always on the alert in making female acquaintances, their long lists of famous relatives, they had all the eagerness of the Yankee, so much despised in the Richmond prints, in disposing of half-starved chickens and heavy hoe-cakes at extortionate prices. With their dickering propensities there was an amount of dirt on their persons and about the premises, and roughness in their manners, that did great discredit to the memory of Pocahontas.
"You have the old horse tied up close," casually remarked a spruce young Sergeant who, in obedience to orders from Division Head-quarters, had just stationed a guard in the yard of the premises, alluding to an old, worn-out specimen of horseflesh tied up so closely to the house that his head and neck were almost a straight line.
"Yon's no hoss, sir. It's a mare," quickly retorted one of those black-eyed beauties.
The polite Sergeant, who had dressed himself with more than usual care, in the expectation of meeting the ladies, colored somewhat, but the young lady, in a matter-of-course strain, went on to say,