“I wuz gwiner tell you erbout de time de Union sojer stole Miss Betsy’s bee-hives, en he wuz dat hongry he pitch en ter de honey fo’ de bees got out, en one git en hees frote en stung him; Lawdy, how he hollered!  But I won’t, cors you called me tar baby.”

“I beg your pardon, I meant no offense.  I just have an unfortunate habit of calling things by their names.  I am like the hungry old lady who sung: 

    “’Alack-alack, alack-alack! 
    A dinner’s a dinner, a snack’s a snack. 
    I can call them none other, alack-alack!’

“But I think I have gotten the gist of your story from the preamble; so am not inconsolable.  Anyhow,” he turned to Roberta, “if you wait here a little you can have a sure-enough General Morgan and Uncle Charlie at your tea party.  They are just behind.  Only, if they are as hungry as I am, I don’t know how they will like that make-believe part.”

Away ran the child to Squire that she might tell him Uncle Charlie was just behind, and urge him forward to meet him.  The soldier looked after her with a rueful expression.

“‘Le roi est mort; vive le roi!’” he said—­("’The king is dead; live the king!’) My little sweetheart is a gem, if she did go back on me for Uncle Charlie.”

While Lewie Kurl talked with Roberta the animal he rode seemed laboring under strange excitement.  She looked back at the horses in old Squire’s wagon, neighed joyously and with spirit.  Absorbed in his conversation, Lewie let the reins fall loosely about the mare’s neck.  In an instant she turned and made for the wagon.  Then began a pantomimic show of affectionate demonstrations.  The old comrades of the stable and meadow kissed and caressed each other fondly.  It required a firm hold upon the reins to separate them.  When Lewie rejoined his companion his mare tossed her mane angrily at the turn affairs had taken.  Little shivers of dissatisfaction ran over her.  She continued to look back and neigh, almost viciously, and one of the horses in old Squire’s wagon responded in like manner.

    Back again to the bluegrass,
      Horse and rider too;
    Back again to the old haunts,
      Comrades tried and true. 
    Forgot, the weary marches;
      Forgot, the hunger and cold. 
    Back again to the bluegrass,
      And hearts whose worth is gold.

As old Squire and the children moved on a squad of soldiers mounted the crest of the hill, then halted.  They met right there a man in citizen’s clothes, on horseback, with a pair of fat saddle-bags swung across the pommel of his saddle.  The men in gray surrounded him instantly; one seized hold of his bridle-rein, another made threatening demonstrations toward his saddle-bags.

“O, Uncle Squire,” cried Roberta, “that’s Mr. Shanks, that’s Sallie’s dear grandpapa!  O, my heart just trembles for him.  I hope they won’t do any thing to him.”

“Yes, dat’s him.  He dun kotch up wid at las’.  He gwiner be paid back fur all hees meanness at las’.”