shrill, crackling notes. Two or three dogs waked up and barked lazily
at them as they walked up the path to where an elderly, spectacled
woman sat on the porch knitting. She raised{98} her eyes and threw her
spectacles on top of her head, and looked curiously at them.

Whatever faint misgivings Si might have had vanished at the utter
peacefulness of the scene. It was so like the old home that he had left
that he could not imagine that war existed anywhere near. It seemed as
if the camp at Murfreesboro' and the bloody field of Stone River must
be a thousand miles away. The beds of roses and pinks which bordered the
walk were the same as decorated the front yard at home. There were the
same clumps of snowballs and lilacs at the corners of the house.

"Howdy, gentlemen?" said the woman, as they came up.

It seemed almost a wrong and insult to be carrying deadly arms in the
presence of such a woman, and Si and Shorty let their guns slip down, as
if they were rather ashamed of them.

"Good day, ma'am," said Shorty, taking off his hat politely and wiping
his face. "We're lookin' around to git some cornpone and buttermilk, and
didn't know but what you might let us have some. We're willin' to pay
for it."

"If you want suthin' to eat," said the woman promptly, "I kin gin it
to ye. I never turn no hungry man away from my door. Wait a minnit and
I'll bring ye some."

She disappeared inside the house, and Si remarked to Shorty:

"Your head's level this time, as it generally is. We'll git something
that's worth while comin' after."

The woman reappeared with a couple of good-size corn-dodgers in her
hand.{99}

"This appears to be all the bread that's left over from dinner," she
said. "And the meat's all gone. But the wenches 'll be through their
washin' purty soon, and then I'll have them cook ye some more, if ye'll
wait."

"Thankee, ma'am," said Shorty; "we can't wait. This'll be a plenty, if
we kin only git some buttermilk to go with it. We don't want no meat. We
git plenty o' that in camp."

"You can have all the buttermilk you want to drink," she answered, "if
you'll go down to the spring-house thar and git it. It's fresh, and
you'll find a gourd right beside o' the jar. I'd go with you, but it
allers gives me rheumatiz to go nigh the spring-house."

"Don't bother, ma'am, to go with us," said Shorty politely. "We are very
much obliged to you, indeed, and we kin make out by ourselves. How much
do we owe you?" And