“No, indeed,” said she, with just a trace of pride swelling in the temple's delicate network of blue veins. “The Fortners an' the Brills air soljer families, an' ther young men hev shouldered ther guns whenever the country needed fouten-men. Great gran'fathers Brill an' Fortner come inter the State along with Dan'l boone nigh onter a hundred years ago, and sence then them an' ther descendents hev fit Injuns, Brittishers an' Mexikins evr'y time an inimy raised a sword agin the country.” “Many of them lose their lives?” “Yes, ev'ry war hez cost the families some member. Gran'fathes Brill an' Fortner war both on 'em killed at the Injun ambush at Blue Licks. I wuz on'y a baby when my father wuz killed at the massacre of Winchester's men at the River Raisin. My brother---” “father of the man I was with yesterday?” “No; HIS father wuz my oldest brother. My youngest brother--the 'baby' o' the family--wuz mortally wounded by a copper ball in the charge on the Bishop's Palace at the takin' o' Monterey.” “And your husband--he went through the war safely, did he?” The pleasant, mobile lines upon the woman's face congealed into stony hardness. At the moment of Harry's question she was beginning to count the stitches in her work for some feminine mystery of “narrowing” or “turning.” She stopped, and hands and knittng dropped into her lap. “My husband,” she said slowly and bitterly, “wuz spared by the Mexikins thet he fit, but not by his own countrymen an' neighbors, amongst whom he wuz brung up. His blood wuz not poured out on the soil he invaded, but wuz drunk by the land his forefathers an' kinsmen hed died fur. The godless Greasers on the River Grande war kinder ter him nor the CHRISTIAN gentlemen on the Rockassel.” The intensity and bitterness of the utterance revealed a long conning of the expression of bitter truths. “He lost his life, then,” said Harry, partially comprehending, “in some of the troubles around here?” “He wuz killed, bekase he wouldn't help brek down what hit hed cost so much ter build up. He wuz killed, bekase he thot a pore man's life wuth mo'en a rich man's nigger. He wuz killed, bekase he b'lieved this whole country belonged ter the men who'd fit fur hit an' made hit what hit is, an' thet hit wuzn't a plantation fur a passel o' slave-drivers ter boss an' divide up jess ez hit suited 'em.” “Why, I thought all you Kentuckians were strongly in favor of keeping the negores in slavery,” said Harry in amazement. “Keepin the niggers ez slaves ain't the question at all. We folks air ez fur from bein' Abolitionists ez ennybody. Hit's a battle now with a lot uv 'ristocrats who'd take our rights away.” “I don't quite understand your position,” said Harry.