The words were spoken with great emphasis, and as he spoke the Southern lad, with his ruddy-brown face and coal-black hair, glanced half-defiantly at his companion. Louis Rockford’s face fell and then a half-amused look crossed it. “How hot-headed you do get, Andy! I trust you’re not going to fight over this thing.” “I’ll fight if I’m called on to fight. I believe in sticking up for my rights. Wouldn’t you fight for your rights?” “Certainly. But the politicians and the other big men on both sides ought to do their best to prevent bloodshed.” Andy Arlington drew a long breath, and urged forward his horse again. “This thing has been a-brewing a long time--ever since old John Brown seized the arsenal at Harper’s Ferry and tried to get the negroes to arm themselves. Jefferson Davis and the others have tried their best to straighten matters out and the Northerners won’t listen to them, and I say if it comes to fighting, it will be the fault of the North, and not of the South.” “And I think you are greatly mistaken,” was the quiet but firm answer. “However,” went on Louis Rockford, as he saw his chum’s face darken, “whatever happens, Andy, let us remain friends.” “Oh, I’m not making this a personal affair, Louis,” was the hasty response. “I wouldn’t want to count you my enemy for a good deal. But--but--hang it all, I wish you would look at this matter as I, and father, and the rest do.” “And I wish you would look at it as I and my father do,” laughed Louis. “We’re as bad as the politicians, aren’t we? But I’ll tell you one thing,” went on Louis, gravely. “I’ll never stand for having our glorious United States broken up into separate republics. Our forefathers fought too hard for our colonies to allow anything like that to happen.” “Well, it is a kind of a shame, in one way, Louis. But the Northern States must learn to keep their hands out of our business--must learn to leave us alone,” said Andy Arlington, with as much spirit as before; and now the mountain-road became so rough that the rattle of the farm wagon over the rough stones made further conversation just then impossible. As has been mentioned, Louis Rockford and Andy Arlington were chums. Both were nearly seventeen years of age, tall, well-built, and muscular. Andy was dark, while Louis was fair, and each had been brought up upon a large farm or plantation. The Rockford homestead lay in a valley near the southern boundary of Pennsylvania, at a point where the State of Maryland divided it from Virginia by a stretch of less than twenty miles. It was a well-kept, although rather rocky, farm of a hundred acres, and to it was attached a dairy of no mean proportions. The Rockford family consisted of five persons--Mr. and Mrs. Rockford, Louis, the only son, and Lucy and Martha, two daughters, one older and the other younger than their brother.