They say she's a bad woman, and my Mama would never let me go near her."

The man flinched as though struck with a knife, steadied himself for a moment with his hands on the mare's neck and said,

"You're a brave little one to be out alone this time o'night,-what's your name?'

"Charles Gaston."

"Then you're my Colonel's boy-many a time I followed him where men were fallin' like leaves-I wish to God I was with him now in the ground! Don't tell anybody you saw me,-them that knowed me will think I'm dead, and it's better so."

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Good-bye, sir," said the child "I'm sorry for you if you've got no home. I'm after the doctor for my Mama, —she's very sick. I'm afraid she's going to die, and if you ever pray I wish you'd pray for her."

The soldier came closer. "I wish I knew how to pray, my boy. But it seemed to me I forgot everything that was good in the war, and there's nothin' left but death and hell. But I'll not forget you, good-bye!"

When Charlie was in bed, he lay an hour with wide staring eyes, holding his breath now and then to catch the faintest sound from his mother's room. All was

quiet at last and he fell asleep. But he was no longer a child. The shadow of a great sorrow had enveloped his soul and clothed him with the dignity and fellowship of the mystery of pain.

CHAPTER II

A LIGHT SHINING IN DARKNESS

N the rear of Mrs. Gaston's place, there stood in the

midst of an orchard a log house of two rooms,

with hallway between them. There was a mudthatched wooden chimney at each end, and from the back of the hallway a kitchen extension of the same material with another mud chimney. The house stood in the middle of a ten acre lot, and a woman was busy in the garden with a little girl, planting seed.

"Hurry up Annie, less finish this in time to fix up a fine dinner er greens and turnips an 'taters an a chicken. Yer Pappy 'll get home to-day sure. Colonel Gaston's Nelse come last night. Yer Pappy was in the Colonel's regiment an' Nelse said he passed him on the road comin' with two one-legged soldiers. He ain't got but one leg, he says. But, Lord, if there's a piece of him left we'll praise God an' be thankful for what we've got."

"Maw, how did he look? I mos' forgot-'s been so long sence I seed him?" asked the child.

"6 Look! Honey! He was the handsomest man in Campbell county! He had a tall fine figure, brown curly beard, and the sweetest mouth that was always smilin' at me, an' his eyes twinklin' over somethin' funny he'd seed or thought about. When he was young ev'ry gal around here was crazy about him. I got him all right, an' he got me too. Oh me! I can't help but cry, to think he's been gone so long. But he's comin' to-day! I jes feel it in my bones."

"Look a yonder, Maw, what a skeer-crow ridin' er ole hoss!" cried the girl, looking suddenly toward the road. "Glory to God! It's Tom!" she shouted, snatching her old faded sun-bonnet off her head and fairly flying across the field to the gate, her cheeks aflame, her blond hair tumbling over her shoulders, her eyes wet with tears. Tom was entering the gate of his modest home in as fine style as possible, seated proudly on a stack of bones that had once been a horse, an old piece of wool on his head that once had been a hat, and a wooden peg fitted into a stump where once was a leg. His face was pale and stained with the red dust of the hill roads, and his beard, now iron grey, and his ragged buttonless uniform were covered with dirt. He was truly a sight to scare crows, if not of interest to buzzards. But to the woman whose swift feet were hurrying to his side, and whose lips were muttering half articulate cries of love, he was the knightliest figure that ever rode in the lists before the assembled beauty of the world.

"Oh! Tom, Tom, Tom, my ole man! You've come at last!" she sobbed as she threw her arms around his neck, drew him from the horse and fairly smothered him with kisses.

"Look out, ole woman, you'll break my new leg!" cried Tom when he could get breath.

"I don't care,-I'll get you another one," she laughed through her tears.

Look out there again you're smashing my game shoulder. Got er Minie ball in that one.

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"Well your mouth's all right I see," cried the delighted woman, as she kissed and kissed him.

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Say, Annie, don't be so greedy, give me a chance at my young one." Tom's eyes were devouring the excited girl who had drawn nearer.

"Come and kiss your Pappy and tell him how glad

you are to see him!" said Tom, gathering her in his arms and attempting to carry her to the house.

He stumbled and fell. In a moment the strong arms of his wife were about him and she was helping him into the house.

She laid him tenderly on the bed, petted him and cried. over him. "My poor old man, he's all shot and cut to pieces. You're so weak, Tom-I can't believe it. You were so strong. But we'll take care of you. Don't you worry. You just sleep a week and then rest all summer and watch us work the garden for you!"

He lay still for a few moments with a smile playing around his lips.

Lord, ole woman, you don't know how nice it is to be petted like that, to hear a woman's voice, feel her breath on your face and the touch of her hand, warm and soft, after four years sleeping on dirt and living with men and mules, and fightin' and runnin' and diggin' trenches like rats and moles, killin' men, buryin' the dead like carrion, holdin' men while doctors sawed their legs off, till your turn came to be held and sawed! You can't believe it, but this is the first feather bed I've touched in four years.

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"Well, well!-Bless God it's over now," she cried. S'long as I've got two strong arms to slave for you— as long as there's a piece of you left big enough to hold on to I'll work for you," and again she bent low over his pale face, and crooned over him as she had so often done over his baby in those four lonely years of war and poverty.

Suddenly Tom pushed her aside and sprang up in bed. "Geemimy, Annie, I forgot my pardners-there's two more peg-legs out at the gate by this time waiting for us to get through huggin' and carryin' on before they come in. Run, fetch 'em in quick!"

Tom struggled to his feet and met them at the door.

Come right into my palace, boys. I've seen some fine places in my time, but this is the handsomest one I ever set eyes on. Now, Annie, put the big pot in the little one and don't stand back for expenses. Let's have a dinner these fellers 'll never forget."

It was a feast they never forgot. Tom's wife had raised a brood of early chickens, and managed to keep them from being stolen. She killed four of them and cooked them as only a Southern woman knows how. She had sweet potatoes carefully saved in the mound against the kitchen chimney. There were turnips and greens and radishes, young onions and lettuce and hot corn dodgers fit for a king; and in the centre of the table she deftly fixed a pot of wild flowers little Annie had gathered. She did not tell them that it was the last peck of potatoes and the last pound of meal. This belonged to the morrow. To-day they would live.

They laughed and joked over this splendid banquet, and told stories of days and nights of hunger and exhaustion, when they had filled their empty stomachs with dreams of home.

"Miss Camp, you've got the best husband in seven states, did you know that?" asked one of the soldiers, a mere boy.

"Of course she'll agree to that, sonny," laughed Tom. "Well it's so. If it hadn't been for him, M'am, we'd a been peggin' along somewhere way up in Virginny 'stead o' bein' so close to home. You see he let us ride his hoss a mile and then he'd ride a mile. We took it turn about, and here we are."

"Tom, how in this world did you get that horse?" asked his wife.

"Honey, I got him on my good looks," said he with a wink. "You see I was a settin' out there in the sun the