nxiously. "You must be careful, Billy,
now that the quarters are empty and there's not a soul in the place
except Mose."

"But, Celia! the general is a gentleman. I shook hands with him!"

"Very well, dear," she said, passing one arm around his neck and leaning
forward over the flag. The sun was dipping between a cleft in the
hills, flinging out long rosy beams across the misty valley. The mocking
birds had ceased, but a thrasher was singing in a tangle of Cherokee
roses under the western windows.

While they stood there the sun dipped so low that nothing remained
except a glowing scarlet rim.

"Hark!" whispered the boy. Far away an evening gunshot set soft echoes
tumbling from hill to hill, distant, more distant. Strains of the
cavalry band rose in the evening silence, "The Star Spangled Banner"
floating from the darkening valley. Then silence; and presently a low,
sweet thrush note from the dusky garden.

It was after supper, when the old darky had lighted the dips--there
being no longer any oil or candles to be had--that the thrush, who had
been going into interminable ecstasies of fluty trills, suddenly became
mute. A jingle of metal sounded from the garden, a step on the porch, a
voice inquiring for Mr. Westcote; and old Mose replying with reproachful
dignity: "Mars Wes'cote, suh? Mars Wes'cote daid, suh."

"That's my friend, the general!" exclaimed Billy, leaping from his
chair. "Mose, you fool nigger, why don't you ask the general to come
in?" he whispered fiercely; then, as befitted the master of the house,
he walked straight out into the hall, small hand outstretched, welcoming
his guest as he had seen his father receive a stranger of distinction.
"I am so glad you came," he said, crimson with pleasure. "Moses will
take your cap and cloak-- Mose!"

The old servant shuffled forward, much impressed by the uniform revealed
as the long blue mantle fell across his own ragged sleeve.

"Do you know why I came, Billy?" asked the bandmaster, smiling.

"I reckon it was because you promised to, wasn't it?" inquired the
child.

"Certainly," said the bandmaster hastily. "And I promised to come
because I have a brother about your age--'way up in New York. Shall we
sit here on the veranda and talk about him?"

"First," said the boy gravely, "my sister Celia will receive you."

He turned, leading the way to the parlor with inherited
self-possession; and there, through the wavering light of a tallow dip,
the band