“You don't tell me!” repeated Gibbs. “And your aunt, Stephen's widow?” “She is well; or was when I heard from her last.” “Never married again, eh?” said Gibbs. “No.” “Remarkable! but I reckon it wa'n'. for any lack of opportunity, she was a most beautiful woman as I recall her.” “She is still a very beautiful woman,” said Stephen, but for some reason he did not care to discuss Virginia with Gibbs. He had felt no such reluctance where his own mother was concerned. “What about Jake Benson? I've sort of lost track of him, we used to exchange occasional letters, but I drifted about a good deal. I was living in Alabama when the war broke out, but I got back to St. Louis in a hurry then, my politics were of the wrong complexion for down South. But what about Jake Benson? I reckon he's gone on piling up the dollars; give him a start and you'll never stop a Yankee doing that.” “Of course you are not aware that I married his cousin.” “Didn't know he had any cousin left when I took my wife,” said the general. “His uncle's daughter, you know,” explained Stephen. “Oh, yes, of course—Tom Benson's daughter—I recollect he had a daughter. I declare that sort of makes a tie, don't it? But how is Jake? He wa'n'. such a bad fellow as I knew him; he had his notions, that was the worst I ever had to say of him. I used to tell him that all he needed to make a right decent fellow was to limber up some. Well, you must look me up at headquarters, I'd like to show them there the sort of a chap I used to carry around in my arms when he wa'n'. no higher than a walking-stick.” “If you all ain't using that tin-cup,” said a gentle voice, “will you kindly give it here a minute?” The speaker who had approached unnoticed and now stood at Stephen's elbow, was a lank loose-jointed young man of about Stephen's own age. A sandy stubble that had not known a razor in many days covered his chin and lips, his hair was long and almost swept his shoulders, but his eyes were mild, and in the corners of them lurked a humorous twinkle which softened his savage unkempt appearance, giving him an air of genial burlesque. He was clothed in tattered grey homespun, and halted on one foot as a man will who is footsore. On the damaged member he wore a list slipper, the other foot was encased in a soldier's rough brogan. “I've just been gathered in,” he said, with a slight deprecatory gesture and a pleasant twinkle. “They picked me up along with my whole company. We didn't know anything about the white flag until it was too late. Gentlemen, do you think it's over?” “Yes,” said Gibbs promptly. “I think it is, the backbone's broken.”