"No," said Dan, "not a word."

"Listen, mother," said Harry, and he told the two about Chad's ride for
Dan from Frankfort to Lexington. "He asked me not to tell. He did not
wish Margaret to know. And listen again, mother. In a skirmish one day
we were fighting hand to hand. I saw one man with his pistol levelled
at me and another with his sabre lifted on Chad. He saw them both. My
pistol was empty, and do you know what he did? He shot the man who was
about to shoot me instead of his own assailant. That is how he got that
scar. I did tell Margaret that."

"Yes, you must go down in the mountain first," Margaret was saying,
"and see if there is anything you can do for the people who were so
good to you--and to see Melissa. I am worried about her."

"And then I must come back to you?"

"Yes, you must come back to see me once more if you can. And then some
day you will come again and buy back the Major's farm"--she stopped,
blushing. "I think that was his wish Chad, that you and I--but I would
never let him say it."

"And if that should take too long?"

"I will come to you, Chad," said Margaret.

Old Mammy came out on the porch as they were climbing the stile.

"Ole Miss," she said, indignantly, "my Tom say that he can't get nary a
triflin' nigger to come out hyeh to wuk, an' ef that cawnfiel' ain't
ploughed mighty soon, it's gwine to bu'n up."

"How many horses are there on the place, Mammy?" asked Dan.

"Hosses!" sniffed the old woman. "They ain't NARY a hoss--nothin' but
two ole broken-down mules."

"Well, I'll take one and start a plough myself," said Harry.

"And I'll take the other," said Dan.

Mammy groaned.

. . . . .

And still the wonder of that night to Chad and Margaret!

"It was General Hunt who taught me to understand--and forgive. Do you
know what he said? That every man, on both sides, was right--who did
his duty."

"God bless him," said Chad.

CHAPTER 31.

THE WESTWARD WAY

Mother Turner was sitting in the porch with old Jack at her feet when
Chad and Dixie came to the gate--her bonnet off, her eyes turned toward
the West. The stillness of death lay over the place, and over the
strong old face some preternatural sorrow. She did not rise when she
saw Chad, she did not speak when he spoke. She turned merely and looked
at him with a look of helpless suffering. She knew the question that
was on his lips, for she dumbly motioned toward the door and then put
her trembling hands