"You know him?" asked Helen of Robert.
"Yes, I know him and so do you."
"If I know him I am not aware of it."
"That is General Wood."
Helen looked again at the big, slouching figure disappearing at the corner. The name of Wood was famous in the Confederacy. The greatest of all the cavalry commanders in a service that had so many, a born military genius, he was an illiterate mountaineer, belonging to that despised, and often justly despised, class known in the South as "poor white trash." But the name of Wood was now famous in every home of the revolting States. It was said that he could neither read nor write, but his genius flamed up at the coming of war as certainly as tow blazes at the touch of fire. Therefore, Helen looked after this singular man with the deepest interest and curiosity.
"And that slouching, awkward figure is the great Wood!" she said.
"He is not more slouching and awkward than Jackson was."
"I did not mean to attack him," she said quickly.
She had noticed Wood's admiring glance. In fact, it brought a tint of red to her cheeks, but she was not angry. They were now at her own door.
"I will not ask you to come in," she said, "because I know that your mother is waiting for you."