"And he was the tenderest, Jack," she went on calmly. "Old Parton tells a pretty story about him. One bitter, sleeting March day, an early lamb had all but died in the field here, and his little adopted grandchild, a tot of four, found the lamb and cried for it; and so Jackson brought them both to the house, and by the fire; and to comfort the child he took them both into his arms and so sat here, before this great hearth, holding them both in his arms. "He, who had killed bad men as he had dogs, who had cut to death the pick of the army that later won Waterloo, he sat coddling a lamb and a child and thinking of his dead wife, and she,—oh, Jack, I all but shed tears when I think of it! The night she died, and he would not have it so, but lay all night beside her, holding her in his arms, and trying to get her warm again, with the great love of his own great heart." There were tears in Aunt Lucretia’s eyes. Oh, the depths of her stern heart! It is like the mountain capped with snow. But when the snow melts and the flowers come up among the crannied rocks there are no flowers in the valleys below that equal them. The other recollection was of Eloise. It was the night before she left for Washington. Colonel Goff, who had spent the evening with her, had ridden off. I, pretending to work, was really listening for her footstep, as she came back to her room up the great steps. "Jack," she said, standing just outside the window, "come." And she beckoned to me. We sat down under the wisteria vine, which grew over the porch. "Jack," she said, "I want you to do me one favor. No one loves Satan here but you and me. Won’t you take care of him while I am gone? Ride him whenever you can, the harder the better, for he is made of iron and needs it." "He and I are good friends," I said. "I have ridden him daily. We understand each other," I added softly; "we both love you." "And Jack," her hand was instantly in mine in the old way, "in after years you won’t think evil of me for selling myself this way, will you?" "Why, no," I said seriously. "I have been thinking of it, and all life is just a barter and trade." I saw her face in the starlight. "I’ve no right to make you wretched like this, Jack," she said, rising. "I am going in; and when I return do you be gone Jack, somewhere—anywhere." Her voice trembled. She stood quiet, and I by her, dazed and helpless. "There is one thing I am going to take to England with me, Jack," and she pulled out from beneath her gown yoke, a little token I had forgotten. I recognized the locket and the chain I had given her years ago. "And this little picture in it is you, Jack. You gave them both to me the day I helped you lick Braxton Bragg." Then she turned quickly and left me. "Jack," said my Aunt, as we parted the next day at the station, "I am afraid things are all against us. Father, I see, is going to will The Home Stretch to Braxton Bragg. If I were you—"