Uncle Abner
"The destiny of this republic," he added, "is in our hands."
My uncle Abner spoke then:
"It is in God's hands," he said.
"God!" cried Mansfield. "I would not give house room to such a god! When we dawdle, Abner, the Yankees always beat us. Why, man, if this thing runs on, it will wind up in a lawsuit. We shall be stripped of our property by a court's writ. And instead of imposing our will on this republic, we shall be answering a little New England lawyer with rejoinders and rebuttals."
"Would the bayonet be a better answer?" said my uncle.
"Now, Abner," said Mansfield, "you amuse me. These Yankees have no stomach for the bayonet. They are traders, Abner; they handle the shears and the steel-yard."
My uncle looked steadily at the man.
"Virginia held that opinion of New England when the King's troops landed," he said. "It was a common belief. Why, sir, even Washington riding north to the command of the Colonial army, when he heard of the battle of Bunker Hill, did not ask who had won; his only inquiry was, 'Did the militia of Massachusetts fight?' It did fight, Mansfield, with immortal courage."
My uncle Abner lifted his face and looked out over the great valley, mellow with its ripened corn. His voice fell into a reflective note.
