or with a spark coming back into his eyes,
"you and your gladness and the boy and his--sadness--and Phoebe most of
all. But don't let me keep you from your hen-roost defense--I agree with
you that a hen farm will be the cheapest course for you to take with old
Cross. Give him my respects, and good-by to you." The major's dismissal
was gallant, and David went his way with sympathy and admiration in his
gay heart for the old fire-eater whose ashes had been so stirred.

The major resumed his contemplation of the fire. Hearty burning logs make
good companions for a philosopher like the major, and such times when his
depths were troubled he was wont to trust to them for companionship.

But into any mood of absorption, no matter how deep, the major was always
ready to welcome Mrs. Matilda, and his expectations on the subject of her
adventures had been fully realized. As usual she had begun her tale in
the exact center of the adventure with full liberty left herself to work
back to the beginning or forward to the close.

"And the mystery of it all, Matilda, is the mystery of love--warm,
contradictory, cruel, human love that the Almighty puts in the heart of a
man to draw the unreasoning heart of a woman; sometimes to bruise and
crush it, seldom to kill it outright. Mary Caroline only followed her
call," answered the major, responding to her random lead patiently.

"I know, Major; yes, I know," answered his wife as she laid her hand on
the arm of his chair. "Mary Caroline struggled against it but it was
stronger than she was. It wasn't the loving and marrying a man who had
been on the other side--so many girls did marry Union officers as soon as
they could come back down to get them--but the _kind_ of enemy he was!"

"Yes," said the major thoughtfully, "it would take a wider garment of
love to cover a man with a carpetbag in his hand than a soldier in a
Yankee uniform. A conqueror who looked around as he was fighting and then
came back to trade on the necessities of the conquered cuts but a sorry
figure, Matilda, but a sorry figure!"

"And Mary Caroline felt it too, Major--but she couldn't help it,"
said Mrs. Buchanan with a catch in her voice. "The night before she
ran away to marry him she spent with me, for you were away across the
river, and all night we talked. She told me--not that she was going--but
how she cared. She said it bitterly over and over, 'Peters Brown, the
carpetbagger--and I love him!' I tried to comfort