The boy held out a shy hand; the officer bent from his saddle and took it in his soiled buckskin gauntlet.
“Good night, my son,” he said, without a smile, and rode off into the meadow among a crowd of troopers escorting the regimental wagons.
A few moments later a child on a pony tore into the weed-grown drive leading to the great mansion on the hill, scaring a lone darky who had been dawdling among the roses.
“’Clar’ tu goodness, Mars Will’m, I done tuk you foh de Black Hoss Cav’ly!” said the ancient negro reproachfully. “Hi! Hi! Wha’ foh you mek all dat fuss an’ a-gwine-on?”
“Oh, Mose!” cried the boy, “I’ve seen the Yankee cavalry, and they have a horse band, and I rode with them, and I asked a general when they were going to have a battle, and the general said he’d let me know!”
“Gin’ral?” demanded the old darky suspiciously; “who dat gin’ral dat gwine tell you ’bout de battle? Was he drivin’ de six-mule team, or was he dess a-totin’ a sack o’ co’n? Kin you splain dat, Mars Will’m?”
“Don’t you think I know a general when I see one?” exclaimed the boy scornfully. “He had yellow and gilt on his sleeves, and he carried a sabre, and he rode first of all. And—oh, Mose! He’s coming here to pay me a visit! Perhaps he’ll come to-night; he said he would if he could.”
“Dat gin’ral ’low he gwine come here?” muttered the darky. “Spec’ you better see Miss Celia ’fo’ you ax dis here gin’ral.”
“I’m going to ask her now,” said the boy. “She certainly will be glad to see one of our own men. Who cares if all the niggers have run off? We’re not ashamed—and, anyhow, you’re here to bring in the decanters for the general.”
“Shoo, honey, you might talk dat-a-way ef yo’ pa wuz in de house,” grumbled the old man. “Ef hit’s done fix, nobody kin onfix it. But dess yo’ leave dem gin’rals whar dey is nex’ time, Mars Will’m. Hit wuz a gin’ral dat done tuk de Dominiker hen las’ time de blueco’ts come to San’ River.”