"Hunting in another part of the city for you. She's grown so tall and stately you'll hardly know her. Your Papa is at home, and don't know yet that you are wounded."
"And my sweetheart, Marion Lenoir?"
"The most beautiful little girl in Piedmont—as sweet and mischievous as ever. Mr. Lenoir is very ill, but he has written a glorious poem about one of your charges. I'll show it to you to-morrow. He is our greatest poet. The South worships him. Marion sent her love to you and a kiss for the young hero of Piedmont. I'll give it to you now."
She bent again and kissed him.
"And my dogs?"
"General Sherman left them, at least."
"Well, I'm glad of that—my mare all right?"
"Yes, but we had a time to save her—Jake hid her in the woods till the army passed."
"Bully for Jake."
"I don't know what we should have done without him."
"Old Aleck still at home, and getting drunk as usual?"
"No, he ran away with the army and persuaded every negro on the Lenoir place to go, except his wife, Aunt Cindy."
"The old rascal, when Mrs. Lenoir's mother saved him from burning to death when he was a boy!"
"Yes, and he told the Yankees those fire scars were made with the lash, and led a squad to the house one night to burn the barns. Jake headed them off and told on him. The soldiers were so mad they strung him up
