"That's all I know," he answered. "I met Booker riding an express to Richmond, and he told me just what I've told you. I think you and Will here would be welcome at Woodford's--if you don't want to go so far from home--and he will give you enough fighting before the year is out. But isn't that Berk Harrison's voice I hear? He's hand and glove with Phripps and Dunmore, and, perhaps, he would not care to hear my sentiments on the affairs of the day." "Old Captain Barron is in there with him," said Will, motioning with his hand toward the room. "It's nearly two, so they ought to be through breakfast and be out in a few minutes." "There isn't a better soldier than old Barron alive, although he places too much value in the small sword and pistol--two worthless weapons for real fighting--Ah!" At this instance the figure of Berk Harrison appeared, issuing from the window of the breakfast room, which being cut level with the floor within enabled anyone to walk out on the verandah. He was closely followed by Captain Barron and my sister, Mary. Harrison was dressed with his usual care, wearing a buff waistcoat and snowy ruffles. Although he had slept in the Hall over night, he had not appeared in the breakfast room until after I had finished my midday meal. He wore his hair carefully queued, and his lean, smooth face, with its arched eyebrows, aquiline nose, and thin, straight lips, bespoke the cynical man of the world--and also of fierce passion. There was a hard glint in his eyes the instant they were directed toward the Major, but the glance softened a little when he noticed me. "Good morning, Major Bullbeggor," he said, advancing toward the old soldier, who rose to greet him. "How are you, sir, this morning?" "Pretty well, thank you, sir; yes, sir, pretty well, considering a little settling of the bones I probably got by riding too long yesterday--Ah! Good morning, Miss Judkins." And then he shook hands with my sister and Barron. The Captain and he had served together and were old friends. "Always well and hearty, Barron, eh?" he cried. "You see, Miss Judkins, the difference time makes with men. Here's Barron sitting around all the time with the ladies as young as he was twenty years ago, and just look at me--a perfect wreck, yes, Miss, a perfect wreck. I shouldn't wonder if he began to think of getting married next--if he only had a pension, eh." "My face ought to be worth a thousand a year to any woman," laughed Barron, drawing up a chair, while Mary stepped down from the verandah to pet the Major's mare and have a word with his strangely attired nigger, Snake in the Grass. "Your face, indeed, ought to be worth that, Barry," continued the Major, smiling at him thoughtfully, "but it is a question that might admit of some diversity of opinion among women, in comparing it to the relative value of affections."