“A blockade-runner, you mean,” responded Isabey, laughing. “--and I have bought organdies, such charming organdies from Baltimore, almost as good as those we get in New Orleans and from Cuba, and Adrienne and I will be well dressed during the whole war.” Such was not Mrs. Tremaine’s idea, who thought that everybody should dress in sackcloth during the war. But she was too well bred to intimate anything of the sort. Her hospitable instincts made her turn to Angela and say: “Angela, have you ordered ‘snack’ for Captain Isabey?” Isabey looked puzzled, and Lyddon explained that snack was a good old Anglo-Saxon word which was used in lieu of luncheon among a people who had breakfast at eight o’clock and dinner at three. Angela, feeling conscience-stricken, slipped out on the back porch, where she discovered Hector looking disconsolately at a large and not uninviting tray of “snack.” Hector, however, surveyed it with much dissatisfaction. “Look a heah, Miss Angela,” he grumbled, “dey ain’t no lemonade heah. Dey ain’t been a lemon on dis heah plantation sence Marse Linkum was norgorated, an’ dis heah cider ain’t fitten for gentlemen. De cakes ain’t got no sugar in dem, dey jes’ sweetened wid honey, an’ don’t taste like nuttin’ ’tall.” Angela held up a large, round disk, as big as a dinner plate, of waferlike biscuit. “These thin biscuit are very nice, don’t you think, Uncle Hector?” she asked anxiously. “Thin biscuit ain’t nuttin’, Miss Angela,” gloomily responded Hector, picking up the tray and walking off toward the drawing-room. “When Gineral Lee has done enfalated Gineral McClellan an’ got him in a sortie, den we can git sumpin’ fitten to give folks for snack. An’ dem swells from New Orleans, I ’clar to Gord, Miss Angela, I ’shamed to take dis heah tray in de parlor.” “I am very sorry, Hector,” sighed Angela, “but it is the best we can do in war times. At least there is enough.” “Sech as ’tis,” was Hector’s scornful rejoinder as he marched into the drawing-room, where he proceeded to hand the tray, making apologies, _sotto voce_, for everything he offered. “I hope, marm,” he said grandly to Madame Isabey, as he presented the tray first to her, “that you’ll ’scuse dis heah cider, but de lemons is unexpected give out, an’ ole Marse is ’way out ridin’ over de plantation wid de cellar key in his pocket, so we cyarn’ git no champagne.” “Hector,” said Mrs. Tremaine mildly, “there is no more champagne here. We give our friends gladly what we have, but this is a time of war, and such luxuries as we had we have sent to the soldiers.” Madame Isabey took a little of the cider and declared she liked it, while Isabey helped himself as if it had been Veuve Cliquot of the first quality. So did Lyddon, who really liked cider, and who offended Hector very much by saying that good cider was better than the second-quality champagne which was usually found in America.