get up and look around the old
plantation."

"Good," Phil cried.

Custis called Jeb Stuart in vain. He refused to answer or to budge.

Phil found his shoes at the door neatly blacked and the moment he began
to stir a grinning black boy was at his heels to take his slightest
order.

"I don't want _any_thing!" he said at last to his dusky tormentor.

"Nuttin tall, sah?"

"Nuttin tall!"

Phil smiled at the eager, rolling eyes.

"Get out--you make me laugh--"

The boy ducked.

"Yassah--des call me if ye wants me--I'se right outside de do'."

The two cadets ate breakfast alone. The house was yet asleep--except the
children. Their voices could be heard on the lawn at play. They had been
put to bed early, at eleven o'clock. They were up with the birds
as usual. The sun was an hour high, shining the glory of a perfect
September morning. The boys strolled on the lawn. The children were
everywhere, playing in groups. Little black and white boys mixed
indiscriminately. Robbie Lee was playing rooster fight with Sid, his
boon companion. The little black boy born nearest his birthday was
dedicated to be his friend, companion and body servant for life.

Phil paused to see the rooster fight.

The boys folded their arms and flew at each other sideways, using their
elbows as a rooster uses his spurs.

Robbie was pressing Sid against the fence of the rose garden. Sid's
return blows lacked strength.

Robbie stamped his foot angrily.

"Come on now--no foolin'--fight! There's no fun in a fight, if you don't
fight!"

Sid bucked up and flew at his enemy.

Robbie saw the two older boys watching and gave a star performance. As
Sid lunged at him with uplifted arms, and drew back to strike a stunning
blow, Robbie suddenly stooped, hurled his elbow under Sid's arm, lifted
him clear of the ground and he fell sprawling.

Robbie stood in triumph over the prostrate figure.

Phil laughed.

"You got him that time, Robbie!"

Robbie squared himself, raised his spurs and waited for Sid to rise.

Sid was in no hurry. He had enough. He hadn't cried. But he was close to
it.

"Ye needn't put up dem spurs at me no mo'."

"Come on again!" Robbie challenged.

"Na, sah. I'se done dead. Ye stick dat spur clean froo me. Hit mighty
nigh come out on de odder side!"

"Got enough?"

The game was suddenly ended by a barefoot white boy approaching Robbie.
Johnny Doyle carried a dozen teal ducks, six in each hand. They were so
heavy