“You didn’t give me time,” laughed General Hunt.

“Oh, yes, I did.  I saw you lift your pistol and drop it again.  I have never ceased to wonder why you did that.”

Richard Hunt laughed.  “Perhaps I’m sorry sometimes that I did,” he said, with a certain dryness.

“Oh, no, you aren’t, General,” said Margaret.

Thus they chatted and laughed and joked together above the sombre tide of feeling that showed in the face of each if it reached not his tongue, for, when the war was over, the hatchet in Kentucky was buried at once and buried deep.  Son came back to father, brother to brother, neighbor to neighbor; political disabilities were removed and the sundered threads, unravelled by the war, were knitted together fast.  That is why the postbellum terrors of reconstruction were practically unknown in the State.  The negroes scattered, to be sure, not from disloyalty so much as from a feverish desire to learn whether they really could come and go as they pleased.  When they learned that they were really free, most of them drifted back to the quarters where they were born, and meanwhile the white man’s hand that had wielded the sword went just as bravely to the plough, and the work of rebuilding war-shattered ruins began at once.  Old Mammy appeared, by and by, shook hands with General Hunt and made Chad a curtsey of rather distant dignity.  She had gone into exile with her “chile” and her “ole Mistis” and had come home with them to stay, untempted by the doubtful sweets of freedom.  “Old Tom, her husband, had remained with Major Buford, was with him on his deathbed,” said Margaret, “and was on the place still, too old, he said, to take root elsewhere.”

Toward the middle of the afternoon Dan rose and suggested that they take a walk about the place.  Margaret had gone in for a moment to attend to some household duty, and as Richard Hunt was going away next day he would stay, he said, with Mrs. Dean, who was tired and could not join them.  The three walked toward the dismantled barn where the tournament had taken place and out into the woods.  Looking back, Chad saw Margaret and General Hunt going slowly toward the garden, and he knew that some crisis was at hand between the two.  He had hard work listening to Dan and Harry as they planned for the future, and recalled to each other and to him the incidents of their boyhood.  Harry meant to study law, he said, and practise in Lexington; Dan would stay at home and run the farm.  Neither brother mentioned that the old place was heavily mortgaged, but Chad guessed the fact and it made him heartsick to think of the struggle that was before them and of the privations yet in store for Mrs. Dean and Margaret.

“Why don’t you, Chad?”

“Do what?”

“Stay here and study law,” Harry smiled.  “We’ll go into partnership.”

Chad shook his head.  “No,” he said, decisively.  “I’ve already made up my mind.  I’m going West.”