for high
spirited youth. To feel the hand of a rival on your body may lead to a
fight."

The deep set eyes flashed with the memory of his own hot blooded boyhood
and young manhood.

The General's wife won the Boy's whole heart from the moment he saw her.

"How could they tell such lies!" he kept repeating with boyish
indignation. Pure and sweet as the face of his own mother was hers.
Loving, unselfish, tender and thoughtful, she moved through her house
with the gentle step of a ministering angel. The knightly deference with
which the General attended her slightest wish, stirred the Boy's
imagination. He could see him standing erect, pistol in hand, in the
gray dawn of the morning on which he faced the enemy who had slandered
her. He could see the big firm hand grip the pistol's handle in a clasp
of steel as he waited the signal of Death. He wondered what sort of
wound Dickenson's bullet had made in the General's breast. Anyhow, it
had not been fatal. His enemy lived but a few hours.

He set his lips firmly, and repeated the Tennesseean's verdict:

"Served him right, too."

The Boy left the Hermitage under the spell of Old Hickory's personality
for life. He had seen a great man.

IV

THE MONASTERY BELLS

The journey from Nashville to Springfield, Kentucky, was quick and
uneventful. Long before the spire of St. Thomas' church loomed on the
horizon, they passed through the wide, fertile fields of the Dominican
monks. The grim figure of a black friar was directing the harvest of a
sea of golden-yellow wheat. His workmen were sleek negro slaves. Herds
of fat cattle grazed on the hills. A flock of a thousand sheep were
nipping the fresh sweet grass in the valley. They passed a big flour
mill, whose lazy wheel swung in rhythmic unison with the laughing waters
of the creek that watered the rich valley. The monks were vowed to
poverty and self-denial. But their Order was rich in slaves and land, in
mills and herds and flocks and generous harvests.

As the sun sank in a smother of purple and red behind the hills, they
saw the church and monastery. The bells were chanting their call to
evening prayer.

The Boy held his breath in silent ecstasy. He had never heard anything
like it before. It was wonderful--those sweet notes echoing over hill
and valley in the solemn hush of the gathering twilight.

They waited for the priests to emerge from the chapel before making
their presence known. Through the open win