There was a mist about her eyes that betrayed the deep emotion with which she uttered the last sentence. She was a queenly woman of the brunette type with full face of striking beauty surmounted by a mass of rich chestnut hair. The loss of her slaves and estate in the war had burned its message of bitterness into her soul. She had the ways of that imperious aristocracy of the South that only slavery could nourish. She was still uncompromising upon every issue that touched the life of the past. She believed in slavery as the only possible career for a negro in America. The war had left her cynical on the future of the new “Mulatto” nation as she called it, born in its agony. Her only child had died during the war, and this great sorrow had not softened but rather hardened her nature. Her husband’s career as a preacher was now a double cross to her because it meant the doom of eternal poverty. In spite of her love for her husband and her determination with all her opposite tastes to do her duty as his wife, she could not get used to poverty. She hated it in her soul with quiet intensity. The General was thinking of all this as he tried to frame a cheerful answer. Somehow he could not think of anything worth while to say to her. So he changed the subject. “Mrs. Durham, I’ve called to ask your interest in your Sunday School in a boy who is a sort of ward of mine, young Allan McLeod.” “That handsome red-headed fellow that looks like a tiger, I’ve seen playing in the streets?” “Yes, I want you to tame him.” “Well, I will try for your sake, though he’s a little older than any boy in my class. He must be over fifteen.” “Just fifteen. I’m deeply interested in him. I am going to give him a good education. His father was a drunken Scotchman in my brigade, whose loyalty to me as his chief was so genuine and touching I couldn’t help loving him. He was a man of fine intellect and some culture. His trouble was drink. He never could get up in life on that account. I have an idea that he married his wife while on one of his drunks. She is from down in Robeson county, and he told me she was related to the outlaws who have infested that section for years. This boy looks like his mother, though he gets that red hair and those laughing eyes from his father. I want you to take hold of him and civilise him for me.” “I’ll try, General. You know, I love boys.” “You will find him rude and boisterous at first, but I think he’s got something in him.” “I’ll send for him to come to see me Saturday.” “Thank you, Madam. I must go. My love to Dr. Durham.” The next Saturday when Mrs. Durham walked into her little parlour to see Allan, the boy was scared nearly out of his wits. He sprang to his feet, stammered and blushed, and looked as though he were going to jump out of the window. Mrs. Durham looked at him with a smile that quite disarmed his fears, took his outstretched hand, and held it trembling in hers. “I know we will be good friends, won’t we?”