“I never said nothing about your Uncle Charlie,” said Mr. Shanks, recognizing the child.

“Well, you said it about General Morgan, and that’s the same thing.  My Uncle Charlie is one of his captains, and I think General Morgan is the bestest man that ever lived not to do something awful to you.  If I was you, I would turn over a new leaf, and stop writing bad things about people, your neighbors, too; and the Bible says, ’Love your neighbors as yourself.’  Mamma read it to me last night.”

Who was that dashing towards them in a cloud of dust?  Dust whitening his long, unkempt beard; whitening his brown, curly locks; belted all around with pistols and knives; teeth glistening through his tawny mustache; radiant, positively radiant with joy, as he leaped from his panting horse, and fairly crushed the startled child in his arms?  She screamed aloud in nervous terror.

“O, you goosey!” said he, “don’t you know Uncle Charlie?”

The next minute he had sprung on to the wagon wheel, squeezed old Squire’s hand until the bones snapped, and snatched up a hatful of russets, craunching one of them between his white teeth, stopping after each bite to ask questions about everybody at home.  Well, I reckon there were never three happier children than the three who returned home that afternoon, with the tall soldier walking beside them, leading his horse, and eating russet apples as fast as ever he could.  Old Squire jolted slowly along behind, grinning from ear to ear.

Uncle Charlie wouldn’t sleep in the house that night, but wrapped himself in his blanket and laid down on the ground under a great elm tree in the corner of the yard, with his faithful horse close by.  Mrs. Marsden and Roberta watched from an upper porch, and old Squire by the avenue gate.

At least Roberta thought she watched, but next morning mamma told her with tears in her eyes that Uncle Charlie was gone, that somebody had given him away.  Uncle Squire heard the Federals coming, and told him, and he barely had time to escape.

In February of ’64 old Squire came out from town one afternoon strutting, as Aunt Judy said, for all the world just “lak er turkey goberler.”  He made six consecutive trips to the sitting-room, carrying one stick of wood each time as a pretext, before he caught Roberta’s eye.  When he finally succeeded, he beckoned mysteriously to her, and she got right up and followed him from the room.  He led her out of ear-shot of the others before he told her what he wanted.

“Lil Missus, how’s it happen dat you never axes me no mo’ whar your par is?”

“Because, Uncle Squire, I am afraid you will tell me ’lay o’ers to catch meddlers.’”

“I neber sed erlong wid dat, honey, ‘en you’d be de fus’ one caught.’  Well, if I never sect dat, thar’s nuffin’ sartin erbout who I means when I sez ‘lay o’ers ter ketch meddlers’; you musen jump et conclugeons, honey.  Ennyhow, you ax me ergin, en see what I’ll say dis time.”