than the Deacon's, and Arabella, who was a large, showy
girl, a year or two older than Maria, had been her schoolmate, and,
Maria thought, disposed to "put on airs" over her. Arabella's brother
Randolph was older than Si, but had chosen to continue his studies at
Indianapolis rather than engage in "a war to free the niggers." But
Arabella had developed an interest in the war since she had met some
engaging young gentlemen who had come through the neighborhood on
recruiting duty, and was keeping up a fitful correspondence with two or
three of them.

"It must be very nice, Maria," said Arabella, with a show of cordiality,
but which Maria interpreted as an attempt to patronize, "to have your
brother back home with you again."

"It certainly will be. Miss Widgeon," answered Maria, with strictly
"company manners." "One who has never had a brother exposed to the
constant dangers of army life can hardly understand how glad we all feel
to have Si snatched from the very jaws of death and brung back to us."

"That's a little love-tap that'll settle several scores with Miss
Frills," Maria chuckled to herself. "Partickerly the airs she put on
over all us girls when she was running around to singing-school and
church with that Second Lieutenant, who ain't got across the Ohio River
yet, and I don't believe he intends to. Sol Pringle tells me all his
letters to her are postmarked Jeffersonville."

Arabella took no seeming notice of the shot, but came back sweetly:

"I am awfully glad that your brother was not hurt so badly as at first
reported. He couldn't be, and be able to come home now. These papers
do magnify everything so, and make no end of fuss over little things as
well as big ones, I was very much alarmed at first, for fear Si might be
really badly hurt."

This was too much for Maria. Her company manners slid off like a drop of
water from a cabbage leaf, and she answered hotly:

"I'd have you know. Miss Widgeon, the papers don't magnify the matter.
They don't make a fuss over nothing. They don't begin to tell all the
truth. None o' them can. My brother was nearer dead than any man who
ever lived. Nothing but the favor of God and Klegg grit pulled him
through. It'd killed a whole house full o' Randy Widgeons or that Second
Lieutenant. I remember Randy Widgeon turning pale and a'most fainting
when he run a fish-hook in his finger. If it ain't nothing, why don't
Randy Widgeon go down there a little while, with the rest o'