Then came the strange change in Solomon. He did not know what it meant. Why he put on the uniform, the cavalry boots and the big spurs. Why he wanted to strut and swell in the pride of his six feet three, when the old General blurted out: “Solomon, damned if you ain’t real handsome—what’s come over you?” “Gen’l—Gen’l, I dunno—but I finds myse’f struttin’ jes like a wood-cock in the spring.” “Oho,” laughed the General, “look out, Solomon.” That was all open—seen of all men. But secretly, silently, painfully—in the depths of his great soul something stirred within him that he told to no man, for he knew not what it was. What it did he knew: “God, it lifts me out o’ the clay o’ myse’f!” Never had he been so happy. Ride? He could ride Ajax over a whole regiment. He could lick Johnston’s whole army. “An’ the cu’is part, Solomon—yer fool—you are wantin’ to fight outwardly, but in’ardly you are cryin’ all the time.” It hurt him when he saw her. He was sorry when she brought him his meals; he got behind a tree and wept when she left, and in this state he stopped one day and turned white: “God, mebbe it’s that thar blin’ staggers I’ve got—that I heur’n so o’ fo’ks havin’ in the rich valleys.” The dreadful blind staggers he had heard of all his life—that never came to those high up in the pure air of the mountain! He was sure they had him. It was the third day and twilight, and when she came out, bringing his supper, the red ribbon in the white of her gown, her dark eyes above, made him think of the tiger lilies that grew by Telulah. He pretended not to see her and when she blocked his path with a pretty smile and salute, he feigned astonishment: “Law, but I thort the moon had riz!” “Oh, you are a poet, Solomon, and a dreadful flatterer,” but she laughed in so pleased a way that Solomon swelled up in his great chest and blew deep and long, snorting it out, to loosen the great hurting feeling that was there. Then, too, he had seen Ajax do it with the thunder of battle in his nostrils. She sat on the stump before him, kicking her slippered heels against the rough bark and watching him so keenly with measuring, wistful eyes. “Solomon, I have been thinking, and mother and I want you to come in the house and hear my music. You have been so good to us and we are so fond of you.” She jumped down, took his hand and led him. It burned him—it made him gasp for breath, yet all he could do was to follow. And the house—never before had he seen splendor. They had trouble persuading him to step on the rugs and to walk on the carpets. But the sweet-faced, white-haired lady came graciously forward and shook his hand which made him feel better. Then the Angel sat down before something Solomon had never seen and— They both stood over him ten minutes afterwards, for he was sitting on a sofa weeping: