“They didn’t tetch me, Martha,” he said, finally recovering his voice. “Sid Wombley kinder tuk pity on me an’ stood up fer me, an’ they all concluded to give me another trial. I hain’t lived right, Martha, I kin see it now, an’ to-morrow I’m a-goin’ to begin different. These fellows have got good hearts in ‘em, an’ after the way they talked an’ acted to-night I hain’t a-goin’ to harbor no ill-will ag’in’ ‘em.” Mrs. Trundle leaned toward him. She began to cry softly, and he drew her head over on his shoulder and stroked her thin hair with his coarse hands. Then they kissed each other, went into the cabin, and went to bed in the dark, so as not to wake the children. THE COURAGE OF ERICSON |In straggling, despondent lines the men in soiled gray leaned on their muskets and peered through the misty darkness at the enemy crawling across the field in front of them like a monster reptile. The colonel of the regiment nearest the coppice of pines strode restlessly back and forth in front of his men, on tenter-hooks of anxiety, the spasmodic glow of his cigar showing features grim and tortured. “I feel like we ‘re in fer it to-night,” whispered Private Ericson to a battle-stained comrade. “Right you are,” was the guarded reply; “an’ we-uns ain’t a handful beside the army out thar. I tell you the blasted fellers have had reinforcements sence the sun went down. I know it, an’ our colonel is beginnin’ to suspicion it. Ef he had his way he’d order a retreat while thar’s a chance.” Silence, punctuated by the clanking of the colonel’s sword and the snoring of a private asleep standing, intervened. Then Private Huckaby resumed: “So this is raily yore old stompin’-ground, Ericson. I reckon you uster haul pine-knots out ’n them woods, and split rails on that mountain-side.” “I know every inch of it like a book,” sighed Ericson. “An’ I reckon that sweetheart o’ yor ’n don’t live fur off, ef she didn’t refugee.” “Her folks wuz Union,” returned Ericson, sententiously. “Her ’n tuk one side, an’ me an’ mine t’other. The cabin she used to live in is jest beyond them woods at the foot o’ the fust mountain, ‘Old Crow.’ She’s thar yit. A feller that seed ’er a week ago told me. She ‘lowed ef I jined the Confederacy I needn’t ever look her way any more. Her father an’ only brother went to the Union side, an’ she blamed me fer wantin’ to go with my folks. She is as proud as Lucifer. I wisht we’d parted friendlier. I hain’t been in a single fight without wantin’ that one thing off my mind.” Ericson leaned on the muzzle of his gun, and Huckaby saw his broad shoulders rise and quiver convulsively. He stared at the begrimed face under the slouched hat, beginning to think that what he had seen of his young mate had been only the surface--the froth--of a deeper nature. An excited grunt came from the mist which almost enveloped the colonel, and he was seen to dart to the end of the regiment and throw down his cigar. “To arms!” he cried.