“That’s business,” said Crenshaw, nodding.

“All I know is this:  General Quintard was a conspicuous man in these parts fifty years ago; that was before my time, Mr. Crenshaw, and I take it, too, it was before yours; he married a Beaufort.”

“So he did,” said Crenshaw, “and there was one child, a daughter; she married a South Carolinian by the name of Turberville.  I remember that, fo’ they were married under the gallery in the hall.  Great folks, those Turbervilles, rolling rich.  My father was manager then fo’ the general—­that was nearly forty years ago.  There was life here then, sir; the place was alive with niggers and the house full of guests from one month’s end to another.”  He drummed on the desktop.  “Who’d a thought it wa’n’t to last for ever!”

“And what became of the daughter who married Turberville ?”

“Died years ago,” said Crenshaw.  “She was here the last time about thirty years back.  It wa’n’t so easy to get about in those days, no roads to speak of and no stages, and besides, the old general wa’n’t much here nohow; her going away had sort of broken up his home, I reckon.  Then the place stood empty fo’ a few years, most of the slaves were sold off, and the fields began to grow up.  No one rightly knew, but the general was supposed to be traveling up yonder in the No’th, sir.  As I say, things ran along this way quite a while, and then one morning when I went to my store my clerk says, ’There’s an old white-headed nigger been waiting round here fo’ a word with you, Mr. Crenshaw.’  It was Joe, the general’s body servant, and when I’d shook hands with him I said, ‘When’s the master expected back?’ You see, I thought Joe had been sent on ahead to open the house, but he says, ‘General Quintard’s at the Barony now,’ and then he says, ’The general’s compliments, sir, and will you see that this order is filled?’ Well, Mr. Bladen, I and my father had factored the Barony fo’ fifteen years and upward, but that was the first time the supplies fo’ the general’s table had ever been toted here in a meal sack!

“I rode out that very afternoon, but Joe, who was one of your mannerly niggers, met me at the door and says, ’Mr. Crenshaw, the general appreciates this courtesy, but regrets that he is unable to see you, sir.’  After that it wa’n’t long in getting about that the general was a changed man.  Other folks came here to welcome him back and he refused to see them, but the reason of it we never learned.  Joe, who probably knew, was one of your close niggers; there was, no getting anything out of him; you could talk with that darky by the hour, sir, and he left you feeling emptier than if he’d kept his mouth shut.”

They were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” said Crenshaw, a trifle impatiently, and in response to his bidding the door opened and a small boy entered the room dragging after him a long rifle.  Suddenly overcome by a speechless shyness, he paused on the threshold to stare with round, wondering eyes at the two men.  “Well, sonny, what do you want?” asked Mr. Crenshaw indulgently.