The Governor turned away and walked to the end of the little porch, where he stood leaning upon the railing. With his eyes on the blossoming locust tree, he waited, in helpless patience, for the words to enter into his thoughts and to readjust his conceptions of the last few months. There slowly came to him, as he recognized the portentous gravity in the air about him, something of the significance of that ringing call; and as he stood there he saw before him the vision of an army led by strangers against the people of its blood--of an army wasting the soil it loved, warring for an alien right against the convictions it clung to and the faith it cherished. His brow darkened, and he turned with set lips to the group upon the steps. He was about to speak, but before the words were uttered, there was a cheer from the open doorway, and a man, waving a despatch in his hand, came running into the crowd. “Last night there was a secret session,” he cried gayly, “and Virginia has seceded! hurrah! hurrah! Virginia has seceded!” The gay voice passed, and the speaker, still waving the paper in his hand, ran down into the street. The men upon the porch looked at one another, and were silent. In the bright sunshine their faces showed pale and troubled, and when the sound of cheers came floating from the courthouse green, they started as if at the first report of cannon. Then, raising his hand, the Governor bared his head and spoke:-- “God bless Virginia, gentlemen,” he said. * * * * * The next week Champe came home from college, flushed with enthusiasm, eager to test his steel. “It's great news, uncle,” were his first joyful words, as he shook the Major's hand. “That it is, my boy, that it is,” chuckled the Major, in a high good-humour. “I'm going, you know,” went on the young man lightly. “They're getting up a company in Leicesterburg, and I'm to be Captain. I got a letter about it a week ago, and I've been studying like thunder ever since.” “Well, well, it will be a pleasant little change for you,” responded the old man. “There's nothing like a few weeks of war to give one an appetite.” Mrs. Lightfoot looked up from her knitting with a serious face. “Don't you think it may last months, Mr. Lightfoot?” she inquired dubiously. “I was wondering if I hadn't better supply Champe with extra underclothing.” “Tut-tut, ma'am,” protested the Major, warmly. “Can't you leave such things as war to my judgment? Haven't I been in two? Months! Nonsense! Why, in two weeks we'll sweep every Yankee in the country as far north as Greenland. Two weeks will be ample time, ma'am.” “Well, I give them six months,” generously remarked Champe, in defiance of the Major's gathering frown. “And what do you know about it, sir?” demanded the old gentleman. “Were you in the War of 1812? Were you even in the Mexican War, sir?” “Well, hardly,” replied Champe, smiling, “but all the same I give them six months to get whipped.”