How fine this courtesy was Chad could not realize.  Neither could he know that the favor Margaret had shown him when he was little more than outcast he must now, as an equal, win for himself.  Miss Jennie had called him “Mr. Buford.”  He wondered what Margaret would call him when he came to say good-by.  She called him nothing.  She only smiled at him.

“You must come to see us soon again,” she said, graciously, and so said all the Deans.

The Major was quiet going home, and Miss Lucy drowsed.  All evening the Major was quiet.

“If a fight does come,” he said, when they were going to bed, “I reckon I’m not too old to take a hand.”

“And I reckon I’m not too young,” said Chad.

CHAPTER 18.  THE SPIRIT OF ’76 AND THE SHADOW OF ’61

One night, in the following April, there was a great dance in Lexington.  Next day the news of Sumter came.  Chad pleaded to be let off from the dance, but the Major would not hear of it.  It was a fancy-dress ball, and the Major had a pet purpose of his own that he wanted gratified and Chad had promised to aid him.  That fancy was that Chad should go in regimentals, as the stern, old soldier on the wall, of whom the Major swore the boy was the “spit and image.”  The Major himself helped Chad dress in wig, peruke, stock, breeches, boots, spurs, cocked hat, sword and all.  And then he led the boy down into the parlor, where Miss Lucy was waiting for them, and stood him up on one side of the portrait.  To please the old fellow, Chad laughingly struck the attitude of the pictured soldier, and the Major cried: 

“What’d I tell you, Lucy!” Then he advanced and made a low bow.

“General Buford,” he said, “General Washington’s compliments, and will General Buford plant the flag on that hill where the left wing of the British is entrenched?”

“Hush, Cal,” said Miss Lucy, laughing.

“General Buford’s compliments to General Washington.  General Buford will plant that flag on any hill that any enemy holds against it.”

The lad’s face paled as the words, by some curious impulse, sprang to his lips, but the unsuspecting Major saw no lurking significance in his manner, nor in what he said, and then there was a rumble of carriage wheels at the door.

The winter had sped swiftly.  Chad had done his work in college only fairly well, for Margaret had been a disturbing factor.  The girl was an impenetrable mystery to him, for the past between them was not only wiped clean—­it seemed quite gone.  Once only had he dared to open his lips about the old days, and the girl’s flushed silence made a like mistake forever impossible.  He came and went at the Deans’ as he pleased.  Always they were kind, courteous, hospitable—­no more, no less, unvaryingly.  During the Christmas holidays he and Margaret had had a foolish quarrel, and it was then that Chad took his little fling at