"I want that job!" MacArthur cried eagerly.
"I'll let you know when the time comes."
The farmer smiled:
"I am a Scotchman—ain't I?"
"And a good one, too!"
With his hand on the door, the rugged face aflame with patriotic fire, he slowly repeated:
"The cunning of the fox and the courage of the lion!—And by the living God, we'll win this time, boy!"
Norton heard him laugh aloud as he hurried down the stairs. Gazing again from his window at the black clouds of negroes floating across the Square, he slowly muttered:
"Yes, we'll win this time!—but twenty years from now—I wonder!"
He took up the little black coffin and smiled at the perfection of its workmanship: