neral, she preserved a cold and acrid inattention; when
the fancy took her to open her own mouth, it was always to begin some
reminiscence, and the reminiscence always began: "In September, 1862,
when the Northern vandals," etc., etc., or "When the Northern vandals
were repulsed by my husband's cousin, General Braxton Bragg," etc., etc.
Now it was not that I was personally wounded by the term, because at the
time of the vandals I was not even born, and also because I know that
vandals cannot be kept out of any army. Deeply as I believed the March
to the Sea to have been imperative, of "Sherman's bummers" and their
excesses I had a fair historic knowledge and a very poor opinion; and
this I should have been glad to tell Juno, had she ever given me the
chance; but her immodest sympathy for herself froze all sympathy for
her. Why could she not preserve a well-bred silence upon her sufferings,
as did the other old ladies I had met in Kings Port? Why did she drag
them in, thrust them, poke them, shove them at you? Thus it was that for
her insulting disregard of those whom her words might wound I
detested Juno; and as she was a woman, and nearly old enough to be
my grandmother, it was, of course, out of the question that I should
retaliate. When she got very bad indeed, it was calm Mrs. Trevise's
last, but effective, resort to tinkle a little handbell and scold one of
the waitresses whom its sound would then summon from the kitchen. This
bell was tinkled not always by any means for my sake; other travellers
from the North there were who came and went, pausing at Kings Port
between Florida and their habitual abodes.

At present our company consisted of Juno; a middle-class Englishman
employed in some business capacity in town; a pair of very young
honeymooners from the "up-country"; a Louisiana poetess, who wore the
long, cylindrical ringlets of 1830, and who was attending a convention
the Daughters of Dixie; two or three males and females, best described
as et ceteras; and myself. "I shall only take a mouthful for the sake
of nourishment," Juno was announcing, "and then I shall return to his
bedside."

"Is he very suffering?" inquired the poetess, in melodious accent.

"It was an infamous onslaught," Juno replied.

The poetess threw up her eyes and crooned, "Noble, doughty champion!"

"You may say so indeed, madam," said Juno.

"Raw beefsteak's jolly good for your eye," observed the Briton.

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