“No,” said Mr. Pruitt, “an’ I’m mighty sorry you’ve heard about it now. It ain’t a purty tale.”
“Who are the men?” Joe asked.
“Yours, respectfully, John Pruitt an’ Jeems Wimberly, Ashbank deestrict, Hillsborough Post-Office, State of Georgia,” said Mr. Pruitt, solemnly.
Joe had heard it hinted and rumored that in some cases, especially where they lived remote from the relief committees, the families of the soldiers were not so well provided for as they had a right to expect. He had even set up some editorials in The Countryman which hinted that there was suffering among the soldiers’ wives and children; but he never dreamed that it was serious enough to create discontent among the soldiers. The story that Mr. Pruitt and his companion told amazed Joe Maxwell, but it need not be repeated here in detail. It amounted to this, that the two soldiers had deserted because their wives and children were suffering for food and clothing, and now they were fugitives.
CHAPTER X—THE STORY-TELLERS
The strange company was silent for a long time. Mr. Pruitt and Mr. Wimberly sat with their elbows on their knees and their faces in their hands, and gazed into the fireplace, while the two negroes, true to their nature, began to nod as the talking ceased. The silence at last became painful to Joe Maxwell.
“Mink,” he said, “suppose you should hear somebody coming, what would you do?”
“I wuz des worryin’ ’bout dat ’while ago,” replied the stalwart negro, passing his hand swiftly across his face. “I ’speck I’d be like de ole sheep you hear talk about in de tale.”