"Yes, Ma'am," the cornet player growled. "I was a talkin' about old Colonel Dean of my regiment, a ragin', clawin', scratchin', fightin' man." His bellicose tones indicated the danger of contradiction and displayed a suspicion that his questioner lifted her voice in behalf of his opponents. "Colonel Dean," she said gently, "was my husband. Were you with him at Shiloh?" A great change swept over the cornetist. He bowed deeply, his hat sweeping the ground. His voice was reverential, even tender, as he replied, "I was behind him there, Ma'am--his bugler. I helped to carry him from the field." The group was very serious now. When the old veteran spoke again he could not conceal the emotion which shook him. "Colonel Dean lived a brave man, Ma'am, and he died--" he hesitated, seeking words--"just like a soldier orter die." He straightened proudly, his old eyes flashing. "Boys," he called, "my Colonel's lady. Attention!" As one man they stiffened. Each hand sought the rim of a hat and together swept forward in the old time salute. Mrs. Dean acknowledged the honor with a bow of great dignity, but the wrinkled hand at her side was shaking. For an instant the frail body held its poise and then broke beneath the storm of feeling which beset it. She seemed to shrink and would have fallen had not Virginia caught the withered form in her arms and helped the old lady to a seat. After a time the tears were fewer and the sobs lessened. Mrs. Dean turned to the girl. "Forgive me, child," she begged. "Forgive the weakness of an old woman." A withered hand stroked a soft white one. "You have given me great happiness today, dearie." Her eyes returned to the waiting members of the band. "I think," she said very gently, "my soldier boys wish to speak to me." She arose and one by one and silently the musicians came forward and took her hand. A little later Mrs. Henderson and Hezekiah found Virginia at the foot of the steps where she had just left Mrs. Dean. The girl was gazing off into the distance. "Virginia Dale, you have been crying," Hennie said, as she noted a telltale moisture of the eyes. "No, Hennie, I am wonderfully happy." "So much so that you had to cry, dearie?" The older woman smiled tenderly. Raising her hands she caught Virginia's cheeks between them and looked down into the big blue eyes. "It was a success, dear--a great success," she giggled mischievously for one of her years. "You told us, remember, that the place needed stirring up. Bless your heart, you shook it with an earthquake." CHAPTER XII MORE TROUBLE "It is a fine form of advertisement and comes cheap," thought Obadiah as he read, with pleasure, certain laudatory references to himself and his daughter, in an article regarding the concert at the Lucinda Home, prominently displayed in the morning paper.