“‘Hit is col’, dat’s a fack,’ sezee.

“Wid dat I got up en tuck my stan’ behime Ole Miss en Miss Sally, en de man w’at speak, he went up en worn his han’s.  Fus thing you know, he raise up sudden, en say, sezee: 

“‘W’at dat on yo’ axe?’

“‘Dat’s de fier shinin’ on it,’ sez I.

“‘Hit look like blood,’ sezee, en den he laft.

“But, bless yo’ soul, dat man wouldn’t never laft dat day ef he’d know’d de wukkins er Remus’s mine.  But dey didn’t bodder nobody ner tech nuthin’, en bimeby dey put out.  Well, de Yankees, dey kep’ passin’ all de mawnin’ en it look like ter me dey wuz a string un um ten mile long.  Den dey commence gittin’ thinner en thinner, en den atter w’ile we hear skummishin’ in de naberhood er Armer’s fe’y, en Ole Miss ’low how dat wuz Wheeler’s men makin’ persoot.  Mars Jeems wuz wid dem Wheeler fellers, en I know’d ef dey wuz dat close I wa’n’t doin’ no good settin’ ‘roun’ de house toas’n my shins at de fier, so I des tuck Mars Jeems’s rifle fum behime de do’ en put out ter look atter my stock.

“Seem like I ain’t never see no raw day like dat, needer befo’ ner sence.  Dey wa’n’t no rain, but de wet des sifted down; mighty raw day.  De leaves on de groun’ ’uz so wet dey don’t make no fuss, en I got in de woods, en w’enever I year de Yankees gwine by, I des stop in my tracks en let un pass.  I wuz stan’in’ dat away in de aidge er de woods lookin’ out cross a clearin’, w’en—­ piff!—­out come a little bunch er blue smoke fum de top er wunner dem big lonesome-lookin’ pines, en den—­pow!

“Sez I ter myse’f, sez I:  ’Honey, you er right on my route, en I’ll des see w’at kinder bird you got roostin’ in you,’ en w’iles I wuz a lookin’ out bus’ de smoke—­piff! en den—­bang!  Wid dat I des drapt back inter de woods, en sorter skeerted ‘roun’ so’s ter git de tree ‘twixt’ me en de road.  I slid up putty close, en wadder you speck I see?  Des ez sho’s you er settin’ dar lissenin’ dey wuz a live Yankee up dar in dat tree, en he wuz a loadin’ en a shootin’ at de boys des ez cool es a cowcumber in de jew, en he had his hoss hitch out in de bushes, kaze I year de creetur tromplin’ ‘roun’.  He had a spy-glass up dar, en w’iles I wuz a watchin’ un ’im, he raise ’er up en look thoo ’er, en den he lay ’er down en fix his gun fer ter shoot.

“I had good eyes in dem days, ef I ain’t got um now, en way up de big road I see Mars Jeems a comm’.  Hit wuz too fur fer ter see his face, but I know’d ’im by de filly w’at I raise fer ’im, en she wuz a prancin’ like a school-gal.  I know’d dat man wuz gwineter shoot Mars Jeems ef he could, en dat wuz mo’n I could stan’.  Many’s en many’s de time dat I nuss dat boy, en hilt ’im in dese arms, en toted ’im on dis back, en w’en I see dat Yankee lay dat gun ‘cross a lim’ en take aim at Mars Jeems I up wid my ole rifle, en shet my eyes en let de man have all she had.”

“Do you mean to say,” exclaimed Miss Theodosia, indignantly, “that you shot the Union soldier, when you knew he was fighting for your freedom?”