Steadying himself by the lintel Edward Cary rose from the log that made the doorstep. A stick leaned against the wall. He took this, and proceeded, slow-paced, to make his way to the pine tree and the low brink of the hill above the creek. The transit occupied some minutes, but at last he reached the pine, tired but happy. There was a wonderful purple-brown carpet beneath. He half sat, half reclined upon it, and leaning forward watched Désirée on her knees before a little shallow bay of the creek. It was washerwoman’s day. There were stepping-stones in the clear brown water, and she was across the stream, her head downbent, very intently scrubbing. “O saw ye bonny Lesley,”— sang Edward,— “As she gaed o’er the Border? She’s gane like Alexander, To spread her conquests further.” Désirée straightened herself. “How did you come there? I left you asleep. Ah, a wicked patient—a malingerer!” “The cabin was cold, so I came out into the sun.” She rose from her knees, took up the small heap of her washing, and, stepping lightly from stone to stone, came to his side of the water. Here, in a square of absolute gold, she spread the washing out to dry. Her sleeves were rolled up to her shoulders, her thick and beautiful hair hung braided to her knee, she looked in that quaint place like an enchanted princess out of a rosy fairy tale. “O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,”— sang Edward,— “That’s newly sprung in June: O my Luve’s like the melodie, That’s sweetly played in tune!—” Désirée turned, came up the pennyroyal bank, and sat beside him on the pine-needle carpet. Bending, he pressed his lips on her bare arm. “As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I—” In the distance they heard the sound of axes against the trees. Breastworks and rifle-pits were in the making over there. Light curls of smoke told where were camp-fires. Not far away the creek was crossed by a wood road. Now a score of horses with three guardian men came down to the ford to drink. Somewhere a bugle sounded. Brown and black and grey, the horses pricked their ears; then, satisfied that it was not battery bugle, dropped again to the cool water. Out of the forest across Little Pumpkin-Vine came a steady, dreamy humming—voices of the Army of Tennessee, encamped here, encamped there, in this region south of the Etowah. “I should like to die on a day like this,” said Désirée. “Just such a day—and life so strong and sweet! To touch, taste, smell, hear, see, feel, and know it all—and then to go, carrying the flavour with you!” “With which to set up housekeeping again?” “With which to set up housekeeping again—in a larger, better house.” “But with old comrades?”