"Little boys!"
They halted and returned.
"We are looking for my son; and this gentleman tells me that you live about here, and know more of the country than any one else I may meet."
"Do you know where any graves is?—Yankee graves?" asked the driver, cutting matters short.
"Yes, there are several down on the road by Pigeon Hill, where the battle was, and two or three by the creek down yonder, and there's one in our garden."
"Where was your son killed, ma'am? Do you know that he was killed?" asked the driver.
"I do not know. We fear that he was; but, of course, we still hope there may have been some mistake. The last seen of him was when General Sheridan went through this country, last year. He was with his company in the rear-guard, and was wounded and left on the field. We hoped he might have been found in one of the prisons; but there is no trace of him, and we fear——"
THE BOYS SELL THEIR CAKES TO THE YANKEES.