ndreds of thousands of men and women sitting in the ashes
of their desolated hopes and the lingering fear of unspeakable
humiliations. Only that morning had these two comrades seen for the
first time the proclamation of amnesty and pardon with which the
president of the triumphant republic ushered into a second birth the
States of "the conquered banner."

"Major," said the young man, lifting his head, "you must open Rosemont
again."

"Oh, I don't know, Jeff-Jack. It's mighty dark for us all ahead." The
Major sighed with the air of being himself a large part of the fallen
Confederacy.

"Law, Major, we've got stuff enough left to make a country of yet!"

"If they'll let us, Jeff-Jack. If they'll only let us; but will they?"

"Why, yes. They've shown their hand."

"You mean in this proclamation?"

"Yes, sir. Major, 'we-uns' can take that trick."

The two friends, so apart in years, exchanged a confidential smile. "Can
we?" asked the senior.

"Can't we?" The young soldier walked on for several steps before he
added, musingly, and with a cynical smile, "I've got neither land,
money, nor education, but I'll help you put Rosemont on her feet
again--just to sort o' open the game."

The Major gathered himself, exaltedly. "Jeff-Jack, if you will, I'll
pledge you, here, that Rosemont shall make your interest her watchword
so long as her interests are mine." The patriot turned his eyes to show
Jeff-Jack their moisture.

The young man's smile went down at the corners, satirically, as he said,
"That's all right," and they trudged on through the white dust and heat,
looking at something in front of them.

IV.

THE JUDGE'S SON MAKES TWO LIFE-TIME ACQUAINTANCES, AND IS OFFERED A
THIRD

They had been ascending a long slope and were just reaching its crest
when the Major exclaimed, under his voice, "Well, I'll be hanged!"

Before them stood three rusty mules attached to a half load of corn in
the shuck, surmounted by a coop of panting chickens. The wheels of the
wagon were heavy with the dried mud of the Sandstone County road. The
object of the Major's contempt was a smallish mulatto, who was mounting
to the saddle of the off-wheel mule. He had been mending the rotten
harness, and did not see the two soldiers until he lifted again his long
rein of cotton plough-line. The word to go died on his lips.

"Why, Judge March!" Major Garnet pressed forward to where, at the team's
left, the owner of these chattels sat