an saw through proud poverty's lie; he knew that irregular
quavering of the voice, and that trembling of the hand; the poor fellow
had but one to tremble. He continued his search; but the bare room gave
back nothing, not a crumb.

"Well, if you are not hungry," he said, briskly, "I am, hungry as a
bear; and I'll tell you what I am going to do. I live not far from here,
and I live all alone too; I haven't a servant as you have. Let me take
supper here with you, just for a change; and, if your servant comes, so
much the better, he can wait upon us. I'll run over and bring back the
things."

He was gone without waiting for reply; the shattered ankle made good
time over the waste, and soon returned, limping a little, but bravely
hasting, while on a tray came the keeper's best supplies, Irish
potatoes, corned beef, wheaten bread, butter, and coffee; for he would
not eat the hot biscuits, the corn-cake, the bacon and hominy of the
country, and constantly made little New England meals for himself in his
prejudiced little kitchen. The pine-torch flared in the doorway; a
breeze had come down from the far mountains and cooled the air. Rodman
kindled a fire on the cavernous hearth, filled the kettle, found a
saucepan, and commenced operations, while the other lay outside and
watched every movement in the lighted room.

"All ready; let me help you in. Here we are now; fried potatoes, cold
beef, mustard, toast, butter, and tea. Eat, man; and the next time I am
laid up you shall come over and cook for me."

Hunger conquered, and the other ate, ate as he had not eaten for months.
As he was finishing a second cup of tea, a slow step came around the
house; it was the missing Pomp, an old negro, bent and shriveled, who
carried a bag of meal and some bacon in his basket. "That is what they
live on," thought the keeper.

He took leave without more words. "I suppose now I can be allowed to go
home in peace," he grumbled to conscience. The negro followed him across
what was once the lawn. "Fin' Mars' Ward mighty low," he said
apologetically, as he swung open the gate which still hung between its
posts, although the fence was down, "but I hurred and hurred as fas' as
I could; it's mighty fur to de town. Proud to see you, sah; hope you'll
come again. Fine fambly, de Wards, sah, befo' de war."

"How long has he been in this state?" asked the keeper.

"Ever sence one ob de las' battles, sah; but he's worse sence we come
yer, 'bout a mont