Of course I expected a difficulty; but the evening passed, and we retired undisturbed.  Not long afterward a series of indescribable sounds broke the stillness of the night, and the tramp of feet was heard outside the house.  Mr. R. called out, “It’s a serenade, H. Get up and bring out all the wine you have.”  Annie and I peeped through the parlor window, and lo! it was the company of volunteers and a diabolical band composed of bones and broken-winded brass instruments.  They piped and clattered and whined for some time, and then swarmed in, while we ladies retreated and listened to the clink of glasses.

March 22, 1862.—­H., Mr. R., and Mike have been very busy the last few days getting the acre of kitchen-garden plowed and planted.  The stay-law has stopped all legal business, and they have welcomed this work.  But to-day a thunderbolt fell in our household.  Mr. R. came in and announced that he has agreed to join the company of volunteers.  Annie’s Confederate principles would not permit her to make much resistance, and she has been sewing and mending as fast as possible to get his clothes ready, stopping now and then to wipe her eyes.  Poor Annie!  She and Max have been married only a few months longer than we have; but a noble sense of duty animates and sustains her.

VII.

THE FIGHT FOR FOOD AND CLOTHING.

April 1, 1862.—­The last ten days have brought changes in the house.  Max R. left with the company to be mustered in, leaving with us his weeping Annie.  Hardly were her spirits somewhat composed when her brother arrived from Natchez to take her home.  This morning he, Annie, and Reeney, the black handmaiden, posted off.  Out of seven of us only H., myself, and Aunt Judy are left.  The absence of Reeney will not be the one least noted.  She was as precious an imp as any Topsy ever was.  Her tricks were endless and her innocence of them amazing.  When sent out to bring in eggs she would take them from nests where hens were hatching, and embryo chickens would be served up at breakfast, while Reeney stood by grinning to see them opened; but when accused she was imperturbable.  “Laws, Mis’ L., I nebber done bin nigh dem hens.  Mis’ Annie, you can go count dem dere eggs.”  That when counted they were found minus the number she had brought had no effect on her stolid denial.  H. has plenty to do finishing the garden all by himself, but the time rather drags for me.

April 13, 1862.—­This morning I was sewing up a rent in H.’s garden-coat, when Aunt Judy rushed in.

“Laws!  Mis’ L., here’s Mr. Max and Mis’ Annie done come back!” A buggy was coming up with Max, Annie, and Reeney.

“Well, is the war over?” I asked.

“Oh, I got sick!” replied our returned soldier, getting slowly out of the buggy.

He was very thin and pale, and explained that he took a severe cold almost at once, had a mild attack of pneumonia, and the surgeon got him his discharge as unfit for service.  He succeeded in reaching Annie, and a few days of good care made him strong enough to travel back home.