supper. I know ye're sharp-set.
A ride from Nashville sech a day ez this is mouty good for the appetite,
an' we've hed supper waitin' ye."

Hastily throwing off her hat and gloves, she sat down with the rest, to
a homely but excellent supper, which they all ate in silence. During the
meal a muscular, well knit man of thirty entered.

"All clar, outside, Bill?" asked Fortner.

"All clar," replied the man. "Everybody's off on a high o' some kind."

Bill sat down and ate with the rest, until he satisfied his hunger, and
then rising he felt along the hewed logs which formed the walls, until
he found a splinter to serve as a tooth-pick. Using this for a minute
industriously, he threw it into the fire and asked:

"Well?"

"Well," answered Fortner. "I reckon hit's ez sartin ez anything kin well
be thet Wheeler's and Morgan's cavalry hez been sent off inter Kentucky,
and ez thet's what Ole rosy's been waitin' fur, now's the time fur
him ter put in his best licks. Ye'd better start afore midnight fur
Nashville. Ye'll hev this news, an' alos thet thar's been no change in
the location o' the Rebels, 'cept thet Polk's an' Kirby Smith's corps
are both heah at Murfreesboro, with a strong brigade at Stewart's creek,
an' another at Lavergne. Ye'd better fallin with Boscall's rijiment,
which'll go out ter Lavergne to-night, ter relieve one o' the rijiments
thar. Ye'd better not try to git back heah ag'in tell arter the battle.
Good by. God bless ye. Miss, ye'd better git ter bed now, ez soon ez
possible, an' rest yerself fur what's comin'. We'll need every mite an'
grain of our strength."

Chapter XIX. The Battle of Stone River.

O, wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North,
With your hands and your feet, and your raiment all red?
And wherefore doth your rout, send forth a joyous shout?
And whence be the grapes of the wine-press that ye tread?

O, evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit,
And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we tred;
For we trampled on the throng, of the haughty and the strong,
Who sat in the high places and slew the saints of God.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They are here--they rush on--we are broken--we are gone-- Our left
is borne before them like stubble in the blast. O, Lord, put forth
thy might! O, Lord, defend the right! Stand back to back, in
God's name! and fight it to the last.