"Hurrah, boys," he said. "I am glad I came to-day. I like to see the Confederates win."
"Wait, wait," said my little George, "and we'll let you see the Federals win."
"Ah, my little man," replied Mr. Davis in his pathetic voice, "your father and I have seen the Federals win."
Corbell was always interested in his father's fighting in Mexico. Of course Mr. Davis far outranked my Soldier in that war, but when Corbell asked, "Were you in papa's Company, Mr. Davis, or was he in yours?" rather than hold any precedence over his father in the boy's thought, Mr. Davis replied:
"If I remember correctly, we were both in each other's Company, I think, my son."
"Our mama," said Corbell, after Mr. Davis had gone, "what has Mr. Davis got in his throat that makes his talk sound so music-y?"
The summers we passed at the Old Greenbrier White Sulphur and the Salt Sulphur Springs, the hotels in both places being kept by brothers who had served in my Soldier's Division.
One season we occupied a cottage with Mr. Peabody, the great philanthropist. It was his last visit to his native land, the summer before he died. He had gone to the Springs in the vain hope of restored health. Looking for my little Corbell one day I found him in the rooms of Mr. Peabody who, with weak and trembling hands, was signing some cheques. Corbell was sitting on his knee, watching his work.
"I know what makes your hand tremble," he was saying. "Our mother told me; she says it's because of all the good things it has done for God's people."
"Your little hand does not tremble. Aren't you glad?" asked Mr. Peabody.