to Atlanta, he would have gone; and you know how he is, honey. Somebody
would have got hurt."

Yet, strange to say, Major Tomlin Perdue was far cooler and more
deliberate than his brother-in-law, Colonel Blasengame. It was the
peculiarity of each that he was anxious to assume all the dangerous
responsibilities with which the other might be confronted; and the only
serious dispute between the two men was in the shape of a hot
controversy as to which should call to account the writer of a card in
which Major Perdue was criticised somewhat more freely than politeness
warranted.

"You are correct in your statement about the four boys bein' took away,"
said Mr. Sanders, "but you'll have to remember that the woods ain't so
full of Blasengames an' Perdues as they used to be; an' you ain't got in
this town a big, heavy balance-wheel the size an' shape of Meriwether
Clopton."

"Yes, dear, you were about to be too hasty in your remarks," suggested
Mrs. Blasengame. Her soft voice had a strangely soothing effect on her
husband. "If some of our young men had been seized, all of us, including
you, my dear, would have been in a state of paralysis, just as our
friends in Shady Dale were."

"The only man in town that know'd it," Mr. Sanders explained, "was Silas
Tomlin. He was sleepin' in the same room wi' Paul, an' they rousted him
out, an' took him along. They carried him four or five mile. He had to
walk back, an' by the time he got home, the sun was up."

"That puts a new light on it," said the Colonel, "and Tomlin will be as
glad to hear it as I am. But I wonder what the rest of the State will
think of us."

"My dear, didn't these young men, and the Yankees who arrested them,
take the train here?" inquired Mrs. Blasengame. She nodded to Mr.
Sanders, and a peculiar smile began to play over that worthy's features.

"By George! I believe they did, honey!" exclaimed the Colonel.

"And in broad daylight?" persisted the lady.

To this the Colonel made no reply, and Mr. Sanders became the
complainant. "I dunner what we're comin' to," he declared, "when a
passel of Yankees can yerk four of our best young men on a train in this
town in broad daylight, an' all the folks a-stanin' aroun' gapin' at
'em, an' wonderin' what they're gwine to do next."

"Say no more, Mr. Sanders; say no more--the mule is yours." This in the
slang of the day meant that the point at issue had been surrendered.

"I suppose Lucy Lumsden is utterly crush