The statue of the old hero of New Orleans stood in the centre of the green. It was inclosed by a circular iron fence and ornamented by carefully trained shrubbery. The bust of the hero was placed on the top of a plain shaft of marble about eight feet high. On the north side of the shaft was an inscription.
“Look!” exclaimed Mr. Huntsworth. “Some rampant rebel has marred that inscription.”
Jeanne looked and saw the writing which read “The Federal Union: It Must be Preserved”–the words Federal and Union had been chipped out, presenting an appearance as if a small hammer had been struck across them.
“The villain!” continued the old gentleman irascibly. “He ought to be hung who ever he is!”
“It is a pity,” said Jeanne. “Isn’t this a cruel war, Mr. Huntsworth, that the things both the North and South have been so proud of now become hateful to one part of the country? I never thought so much about it until since I met that young man this morning.”
“It is a terrible thing for brothers to be arrayed against each other as we are,” assented Mr. Huntsworth. “But don’t think about it too much. It is a pity that your young life should be clouded by the knowledge. You think too much for your age.”
“I am better for it,” said Jeanne. “Wouldn’t it be dreadful for me to laugh and play and be glad all day when the country is in peril? Every one ought to think.”
“Perhaps you are right. But sometimes I have heard you say things that made me think you a bit uncanny, as the Scotch say. I am going to advise your father to turn you out to grass when the war is over. I suppose it would be useless to urge such a thing so long as the war continues.”
“‘To turn me out to grass,’” laughed Jeanne. “What a funny expression. Do you mean for me to live in the fields like the cows and the horses?”
“Well, something on that order,” smiled Mr. Huntsworth. “Your father will understand what I mean. See, there is your steamer, child. I will see you aboard and then I must say good-bye.”