“And mark my word,” cried Calhoun, “it will not be! Before many weeks the name of Morgan will be on every tongue. He will be the scourge of the Yankee army. But, father, what of Uncle Dick and Fred?” “Colonel Shackelford is at home minus a leg. The Federal authorities have paroled him. Fred is at home nursing him. Your uncle won imperishable honors on the field of Shiloh. What a pity he has such a son as Fred!” Calhoun’s face clouded. The remembrance of his last meeting with Fred still rankled in his breast. “I never want to see him again,” he said. The Judge sighed, “Oh, this war! this war!” he exclaimed; “how it disrupts families! You and Fred used to be the same as brothers. I thought nothing could come in between you and him. Calhoun, he is a noble boy, notwithstanding he is a traitor to his state and the South. They say he is going to resign from the army for the sake of his father. Won’t you go and see him?” “No,” brusquely answered Calhoun, yet he felt in his heart he was wronging his cousin by his action. Dinner was now announced by Aunt Chloe, and it did her honest old heart good to see the way that Calhoun ate. “I jes’ believe dat air chile hab had nuthin’ to eat fo’ a week,” she declared. “I reckon I shall have to go now,” said Calhoun, rising reluctantly from the table. “I have already made too long a visit for a country boy with eggs to sell. I declare, Aunt Chloe, I do believe I should kill myself eating if I stayed any longer.” “No danger of dat, chile,” replied Aunt Chloe, grinning. The words of parting were few. “Do be careful, my son,” said Judge Pennington, his voice trembling with emotion. “God only knows whether I shall ever see you again or not.” As Calhoun started to leave, a pair of sharp eyes was watching him. Those eyes belonged to a pretty girl named Jennie Freeman. The Freemans were Judge Pennington’s nearest neighbors, but Mr. Freeman was as strong a Union man as the Judge was a Secessionist. Once the best of friends, a coldness had sprung up between them since the opening of the war. Jennie was two years older than Calhoun, but they had been playmates from babyhood, and were great friends. Jennie called him her knight-errant. More than once he had carried a pair of black eyes in fighting her battles when some of the larger boys had teased her. Jennie had seen the supposed country boy enter the kitchen of Judge Pennington, and there was something in his walk and manner which attracted her attention. “If that isn’t Cal Pennington I am a sinner!” she exclaimed to herself. She was on the watch for him, and when he remained so long she became more than ever convinced that her suspicions were correct. At length the boy came out with his basket on his arm. “Hi, there, boy! come here,” she called. “What have you to sell?” Calhoun paid no attention to her call, but hurried on the faster.