Berrien and Branch, and for that matter the clumsy Ingham, would with an invariable politeness, nicely measured to a hair, greet Peg whenever they met with her; and she would accept their courtesy in a cold way of elevation and as though our cabinet gentlemen came of the general press about whose very names she did not know and never would. On such lofty terms a fair peace was maintained, and nothing to rancorously rise above the majesty of a ripple to beat upon any one's shore. The General might have preferred a better cordiality, but he could make no interference. “If to step between a man and his enemy,” he would say, “is to invoke a risk, how much more is he in danger who tampers with the feuds of women?” For one, I much agreed with him, and we both looked on, idle of hand and tongue, while Peg met and foiled the “Redsticks,” as the General named them. Nor would Peg need our aid. I've seen no prouder, braver woman walk across a room, or one of a more nimble faculty or fortitude more broadly planted, than our Peg. My admiration spent its days to weave new wreaths for her. It was the doting Ingham--he of our Treasury--to be witless enough to broach this business of feminine ice with Eaton. Ingham was a girthy person, and one's briefest consideration disclosed him for the vulgar Pennsylvania paper-maker he was. Short and thick of body, with thick legs, thick neck; even his tongue was thick, and his slow wits thickest of all. Of Ingham I shall not forget Jim's estimate. “It aint for Jim,” said that worthy, “to go talkin' sassy about no white gentleman; but as for dish yere Mr. Ingham, thar's a notion ag'in him which goes gropin' about through Jim like d'grace of heaven through a camp meetin'. That Mr. Ingham is mean; he's that mean if he owned a lake he wouldn't give a duck a drink. He's jes' about as pop'lar with Jim as a wet dawg; an' that's d'mortual fac'.” “You don't appear to carry a high estimate of our Secretary of the Treasury,” said I. “'Deed Jim don't, Marse Major,” he replied. “An' jes' let Jim warn you-all. You don't want to disrecollect, Marse Major, that Jim's a heap sight older man than you be, an' while Jim don't deny he's been gettin' duller an' duller ever since you locks up that demijohn, still it's mighty likely Jim's wise an' wary to a p'int where you-all oughter listen.” “Go on,” said I, “I'm listening.” “Course you-all is listenin',” agreed Jim; “of course you listens, 'cause you has got listenin' sense. That's what Jim likes about you. Now let Jim tell you, Marse Major; that Mr. Ingham's plumb selfish. Jim can see it in his eye. He's all right whilst he's haulin' fodder for his own stack, but you let your intrusrun ag'in his, an' you hyar Jim! that Mr. Ingham 'ud burn your barn to boil his egg quicker than a mule can kick.”