When it was afternoon, and the sun followed Grandfather to the porch, and you were tired of playing House, or Hop-Toad, or Indian, or the Three Bears, it was only a step from Grandfather’s foot to Grandfather’s lap. When you sat back and curled your legs, your head lay in the hollow of Grandfather’s shoulder, in the shadow of his white beard. Then Grandfather would say, "Once upon a time there was a bear..." Or, better still, "Once, when I was a little boy..." Or, best of all, "When Grandfather went to the war..." That was the story where Grandfather lay all day in the tall grass watching for Johnny Reb, and Johnny Reb was watching for Grandfather. When it came to the exciting part, you sat straight up to see Grandfather squint one eye and look along his outstretched arm, as though it were his gun, and say, "Bang!" But Johnny Reb saw the tip of Grandfather’s blue cap just peeping over the tops of the tall grass, and so he, too, went "Bang!" And ever afterwards Grandfather walked with a cane. "Did Johnny Reb have to walk with a cane, too, Grandfather?" "Johnny Reb, he just lay in the tall grass, all doubled up, and says he, ’Gimme a chaw o’ terbaccer afore I die.’" "Did you give it to him, Grandfather?" "He died ’fore I could get the plug out o’ my pocket." Then Mother would say: "I wouldn’t, Father—such stories to a child!" Then Grandfather would smoke grimly, and would not tell you any more, and you would play Grandfather and Johnny Reb in the tall grass. Lizzie-in-the-kitchen would give you a piece of brown-bread for the chaw of tobacco, and when Johnny Reb died too soon you ate it yourself, to save it. You wondered what would have happened if Johnny Reb had not died too soon. Standing over Johnny Reb’s prostrate but still animate form in the tall grass, with the brown-bread tobacco in your hand, you even contemplated playing that your adversary lived to tell the tale, but the awful thought that in that case you would have to give up the chaw (the brown-bread was fresh that day) kept you to the letter of Grandfather’s story. Once only did you play that Johnny Reb lived—but the brown-bread was hard that day, and you were not hungry. Grandfather wore the blue, and on his breast were the star and flag of the Grand Army. Every May he straightened his bent shoulders and marched to the music of fife and drum to the cemetery on the hill. So once a year there were tears in Grandfather’s eyes. All the rest of that solemn May day he marched in the garden with his hands behind him, and a far-away look in his eyes, and once in a while his steps quickened as he hummed to himself, "Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching." And if it so happened that he told you the story of Johnny Reb that day, he would always have a new ending: "Then we went into battle. The Rebs were on a tarnal big hill, and as we charged up the side, ’Boys,’ says the Colonel—’boys, give ’em hell!’ says he. And, sir, we just did, I tell you."