er husband and sons. Ye 've yit ter l'arn though, thet the
most of a woman's life, an' the hardest part of hit, is ter wait."

In her fervid state of mind Rachel responded electrically to this loving
advance, made at the moment of all others when she felt most in need of
sympathy and love. She put her strong arms around Aunt Debby, and held
her for a moment close to her heart. From that moment the two women
became of one accord. Womanlike, they sought relief from their high
tension in light, irrelevant talk and care for the trifling details of
their surroundings. Aunt Debby brought water and towels for Rachel's
toilet, and fluttered around her, solicitous, helpful and motherly,
and Rachel, weary of long companionship with men, delighted in the
restfulness of association once more with a gentle, sweet-minded woman.

The heavy riding-habit was entirely too cumbersome for indoor wear, and
Rachel put on instead one of Aunt Debby's "linsey" gowns, that hung
from a peg, and laughed at the prim, demure mountain girl she saw in the
glass. After a good breakfast had still farther raised her spirits she
ventured upon a little pleasantry about the dramatic possibilities of a
young lady who could assume different characters with such facility.

The day passed quietly, with Rachel studying such of the Christmas
festivities as were visible from the window, and from time to time
exchanging personal history with Aunt Debby. She learned that the latter
had left her home in Rockcastle Mountains with the Union Army in the
previous Spring, and gone on to Chattanooga, to assist her nephew,
Fortner, in obtaining the required information when Mitchell's army
advanced against that place in the Summer. When the army retreated to
the Ohio, in September, she had come as far back as Murfreesboro, and
there stopped to await the army's return, which she was confident would
not be long delayed.

"How brave and devoted you have been," said Rachel warmly, as Aunt Debby
concluded her modestly-told story. "No man could have done better."

"No, honey," replied the elder woman, with her wan face coloring
faintly, "I've done nothin' but my plain duty, ez I seed hit. I've done
nothin' ter what THEY would've done had n't they been taken from me
afore they had a chance. Like one who speaks ter us in the Book, I've
been in journeyin's often, in peril of robbers, in perils of mine own
countrymen, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in
wearine