"Only a hundred dollars."
"That is small. How does the man live?"
"Well, he teaches the daughter of my neighbor, Captain Randall, who believes in praying, and gives him his board. Randall thinks that enough. The rest of the parish can't afford to pay him, and I wont."
"Why wont you?"
"Because he's a d——d old hypocrite. He believes in the Union with all his heart—at least so Randall, who's a sincere Union man, says—and yet, he never sees me at meeting but he preaches a red-hot secession sermon."
"He wants to keep you in the faith," I replied.
A few more miles of sandy road took us to the mansion, where we found dinner in waiting. Meeting "Massa Tommy"—who had staid at home with his mother—as we entered the doorway, the Colonel asked after the overseer.
"He seems well enough, sir; I believe he's coming the possum over mother."
"I'll bet on it, Tommy; but he wont fool you and me, will he, my boy?" said his father, slapping him affectionately on the back.
After dinner I went, with my host to the room of the wounded man. His head was still bound up, and he was groaning piteously, as if in great pain; but I thought there was too fresh a color in his face to be entirely natural in one who had lost so much blood, and been so severely wounded as he affected to have been.