she said, anxiously. "You must be careful, Billy, now that the quarters are empty and there's not a soul in the place except Mose."
"But, Celia! the general is a gentleman. I shook hands with him!"
"Very well, dear," she said, passing one arm around his neck and leaning forward over the flag. The sun was dipping between a cleft in the hills, flinging out long rosy beams across the misty valley. The mocking-birds had ceased, but a thrasher was singing in a tangle of Cherokee roses under the western windows.
While they stood there the sun dipped so low that nothing remained except a glowing scarlet rim.
"Hark!" whispered the boy. Far away the strains of the cavalry band rose in the evening silence, "The Star-spangled Banner" floating from the darkening valley. Boom! The evening gunshot set the soft echoes tumbling from hill to hill, distant, more distant. Then silence; and presently a low, sweet thrush-note from the dusky garden.
It was after supper, when the old darky had lighted the dips—there being no longer any oil or candles to be had,—that the thrush who had been going into interminable ecstasies of fluty trills suddenly became mute. A faint jingle of metal sounded from the garden walk, a step on the porch, a voice inquiring for Mr. Westcote; and old Mose replying with reproachful dignity: "Mars Wes'cote, suh? Mrs. Wes'cote daid, suh."
"That's my friend the general!" exclaimed Billy, leaping from his chair. "Mose, you fool nigger, why don't you ask the general to come in!" he whispered, fiercely; then, as befitted the master of the house, he walked straight out into the hall, small hand outstretched, welcoming his guest as he had seen his father receive a stranger of distinction. "I am so glad you came," he said, crimson with pleasure. "Moses will take your cap and cloak—Mose!"
The old servant shuffled forward, much impressed by the uniform revealed as the long blue mantle fell across his own ragged sleeve.
"Do you know why I came, Billy?" asked the bandmaster, smiling.
"I reckon it was because you promised to, wasn't it?" inquired the child.
"Certainly," said the bandmaster, hastily. "And I promised to come because I have a brother about your age—'way up in New York. Shall we sit here on the veranda and talk about him?"
"First," said the boy, gravely, "my sister Celia will receive you."
He turned, leading the way to the parlor with inherited self-possession; and there, through the wavering light of a tallow dip, the bandmaster saw a young girl in black rising from a chair by the centre-table; and he brought his spurred heels together and bowed his very best bow.
"My brother," she said, "has been so anxious to bring one of our officers here. Two years ago the Yan—the Federal cavalry passed through, chasing Carrington's Horse out of Oxley Court House, but there was no halt here." She resumed her seat with a gesture toward a chair opposite; the bandmaster bowed again and seated himself, placing his sabre between his knees.
"Our cavalry advance did not behave very well in Oxley," he said.
"They took a few chickens en passant," she said, smiling ; " but had they asked for them we should have been glad to give. We are loyal, you know."
"Those gay jayhawkers were well disciplined for that business when Stannard took them over," said the bandmaster, grimly. "Had they behaved themselves, we should have had ten friends here where we have one now."
The boy listened earnestly. "Would you please tell me," he asked, "whether you have decided to have a battle pretty soon?"
"I don't decide such matters," said the bandmaster, laughing.
"Why, I thought a general could always have a battle when he wanted to!" insisted the boy, surprised.
"But I'm not a general, Billy," replied the young fellow, coloring. "Did you think I was?"
"My brother's ideas are very vague," said his sister, quickly; "any officer who fights is a general to him."
"I'm sorry," said the bandmaster, looking at the child,—"but do you know I am not even a fighting-officer? I am only the regimental bandmaster, Billy,—a non-combatant."
