Produced by Wendy Crockett, Tiffany Vergon, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE BATTLE GROUND By Ellen Glasgow To The Beloved Memory of My Mother CONTENTS BOOK FIRST GOLDEN YEARS I. “De Hine Foot er a He Frawg” II. At the Full of the Moon III. The Coming of the Boy IV. A House with an Open Door V. The School for Gentlemen VI. College Days BOOK SECOND YOUNG BLOOD I. The Major's Christmas II. Betty dreams by the Fire III. Dan and Betty IV. Love in a Maze V. The Major loses his Temper VI. The Meeting in the Turnpike VII. If this be Love VIII. Betty's Unbelief IX. The Montjoy Blood X. The Road at Midnight XI. At Merry Oaks Tavern XII. The Night of Fear XIII. Crabbed Age and Callow Youth XIV. The Hush before the Storm BOOK THIRD THE SCHOOL OF WAR I. How Merry Gentlemen went to War II. The Day's March III. The Reign of the Brute IV. After the Battle V. The Woman's Part VI. On the Road to Romney VII. “I wait my Time” VIII. The Altar of the War God IX. The Montjoy Blood again BOOK FOURTH THE RETURN OF THE VANQUISHED I. The Ragged Army II. A Straggler from the Ranks III. The Cabin in the Woods IV. In the Silence of the Guns V. “The Place Thereof” VI. The Peaceful Side of War. VII. The Silent Battle VIII. The Last Stand IX. In the Hour of Defeat X. On the March again XI. The Return BOOK FIRST GOLDEN YEARS I “DE HINE FOOT ER A HE FRAWG” Toward the close of an early summer afternoon, a little girl came running along the turnpike to where a boy stood wriggling his feet in the dust. “Old Aunt Ailsey's done come back,” she panted, “an' she's conjured the tails off Sambo's sheep. I saw 'em hanging on her door!” The boy received the news with an indifference from which it blankly rebounded. He buried one bare foot in the soft white sand and withdrew it with a jerk that powdered the blackberry vines beside the way. “Where's Virginia?” he asked shortly. The little girl sat down in the tall grass by the roadside and shook her red curls from her eyes. She gave a breathless gasp and began fanning herself with the flap of her white sunbonnet. A fine moisture shone on her bare neck and arms above her frock of sprigged chintz calico. “She can't run a bit,” she declared warmly, peering into the distance of the long white turnpike. “I'm a long ways ahead of her, and I gave her the start. Zeke's with her.” With a grunt the boy promptly descended from his heavy dignity. “You can't run,” he retorted. “I'd like to see a girl run, anyway.” He straightened his legs and thrust his hands into his breeches pockets. “You can't run,” he repeated.