used to come to church in a peachblow brocade waistcoat of a foreign
fashion, and his hair shining with pomatum. Yes, he was a great
duellist--that was the age of duels. Shot a man the first year he came
back from France, didn't he?"

"A sad scamp, but a good husband," remarked the doctor, ignoring the
incident of the duel. "I remember when his first child was born, he was
on his knees praying the whole time, and then when it was over he went
out and got as drunk as a lord. 'Where's Bushrod?' were the first words
his wife spoke, and when some fool answered her, 'Bushrod's drunk,
Bessy,' she replied, like an angel, 'Poor fellow, I know he needs it.'
They were a most devoted couple, I always heard. Who was she, George?
It's gone out of my mind. Was she Bessy Randolph?"

"No, Bessy Randolph was his first flame, and when she threw him over for
Ned Peyton, he married Bessy Tucker. They used to say that when he
couldn't get one Bessy, he took the other. Yes, he made a devoted
husband, never a wild oat to sow after his marriage. I remember when I
called on him once, when he was living in that big house there on top of
the hill--"

"I think you're wrong about that, George. I am sure it was Robert who
lived there. When I attended him in his last illness--"

"I reckon I know where Bushrod Carrington lived, Theophilus. I've been
there often enough. The house you're talking about is over on the other
side of the hill, and was built by Robert."

"Well, I'm perfectly positive, George, that when I attended Robert in
his last illness--"

"His last illness be hanged! I tell you what, Theophilus, you're getting
entirely too opinionated for a man of your years. If it grows on you,
you'll be having an attack of apoplexy next. Have you got a glass of
iced water you can give Theophilus, Sally?"

"I'll get it," said young George, as Sally rose, and when he had gone
out in response to her nod, the General, cooling a little, glanced with
a sly wink from Sally to me. "You put me in mind of Bushrod's first
flame, Bessy Randolph, my dear," he observed; "she was a great belle and
beauty and half the men in Virginia proposed to her, they used to say,
before she married Ned Peyton. 'No, I can't accept you for a husband,'
the minx would reply, 'but I think you will do very well indeed as a
hanger-on.' It looks as if you'd got George for a hanger-on, eh?"

"At present she's got him in place of a boy-of-all-jobs," I observed
rightly, though a f