Winthrop, who had arisen at her approach and remained standing until she had seated herself, settled back again and smiled encouragingly. He liked to hear her talk, liked the soft coo of her voice, liked the things she said, liked, besides, to watch the play of expression on her face. “Father always said that the Yankees had no right to interfere with the South and that it wasn’t war with them, it was just homicide. Homicide’s where you kill someone else, isn’t it? I always get it mixed up with suicide.” Winthrop nodded. “That’s what he used to say, and I’m sure he believed it or he’d never have said it. But maybe he was mistaken. Was he, do you think?” “He might have been a trifle biased,” said Winthrop. Holly was silent a moment. Then―――― “Uncle Major,” she continued, “used to argue with him, but father always had the best of it. I reckon, though, you Northerners are sorry now, aren’t you?” “Sorry that there was war, yes,” answered Winthrop, smilingly; “but not sorry for what we did.” “But if it was wrong?” argued Holly. “’Pears to me you ought to be sorry! Just see the heaps and heaps of trouble you made for the South! Julian says that you ought to have paid us for every negro you took away from us.” “Indeed? And who, may I ask, is Julian?” “Julian Wayne is my cousin, my second cousin. He graduated from medical college last year. He lives in Marysville, over yonder.” Holly nodded vaguely toward the grove. “Practising, is he?” “He’s Dr. Thompson’s assistant,” said Holly. “He’s getting experience. After awhile he’s going to come to Corunna.” There was a pause. “He’s coming over to-morrow to spend Sunday.” “Really? And does he make these trips very often?” “Oh, every now and then,” answered Holly, carelessly. “Perhaps there is an attraction hereabouts,” suggested Winthrop. “Maybe it’s Aunt India,” said Holly, gravely. Winthrop laughed. “Is he nice, this Cousin Julian?” he asked. Holly nodded. “He’s a dear boy. He’s very young yet, only twenty-three.” “And eighteen from twenty-three leaves five,” teased Winthrop. “I’ve heard, I think, that ten is the ideal disparity in years for purposes of marriage, but doubtless five isn’t to be sneezed at.” Holly’s smooth cheeks reddened a little. “A girl ought to marry a man much older than herself,” she said, decisively. “Oh! Then Julian won’t do?” “I haven’t decided,” Holly laughed. “Maybe. He’s nice. I wonder if you’ll like him. Will you try to, please? He――he’s awfully down on Northerners, though.” “That’s bad,” said Winthrop, seriously. “Perhaps he won’t approve of me. Do you think I’d better run away over Sunday? I might go out to visit Colonel Byers; he’s asked me.” “Silly!” said Holly. “He won’t eat you!” “Well, that’s comforting. I’ll stay, then. The dislike of Northerners seems to be a strong trait in your family, Miss Holly.” “Oh, some Northerners are quite nice,” she answered, with a challenging glance.