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    After all, Peckham would not be so bad. Somers was one of the best and would be tremendously glad to hear that he was coming back. Only—that would be the end, so far as any hope of seeing Eleanor was concerned—until the old man died—and it was perfectly true, as she had said, that he might be an example of one of those exceptional cases of longevity. He saw the probability more clearly now that his interest was more detached. Up there at the house, they were compelled to cheat themselves with the belief that it could not last



    On Good Fri-day, A-pril 14, 1865, it was four years from the “Sur-ren-der of Fort Sum-ter.” Ma-jor An-der-son had, then, when the foe’s guns struck the fort, hauled down the Stars and Stripes, and with great care, put the dear flag a-way to keep for a glad day which should come, and a large throng of folks from the North had come down to Port Roy-al and Charles-ton to raise, with words of praise and pray-er, o’er the ru-ins of Sum-ter, that same Flag of the Free in all its beau-ty.



    about science and his art. He will elect for the real world and a practice.

    “What is our plan of campaign?” I asked.

    O river of kings and the sons of kings,


    "You can tell him by his long white beard with coffee stains. I don't see it anywhere, though. Perhaps he's shaved it off for the occasion. It would be like that antique womanizer to develop senile delusions of youthfulness."

    As the fun-er-al pro-ces-sion moved from the White House to the church, it was seen that the es-cort was a reg-i-ment of black men, whose free-dom from sla-ver-y had come from him whose voice and hand were now stilled by death.

    He touched Sandra's arm. "Cheer up, my dear," he said. "You should remind yourself that a victory for the Machine is still a victory for the USA."


    Then above it his ears caught a tangible sound, though at first so stealthy, so faint, as to be almost inaudible. Again it came, this time a little more certain, a careful stir in the grass, a movement so soft and so wary, so light, that it might have been made by a snake. Afterwards silence, a silence charged with supreme suspense and excitement for the watchers alert in the trees; they hardly dared breathe. The buffalo calf strained at its tether, but uttered no sound, the poor little creature was dumb with fear.


    bullets taking effect, one passing through the right thigh, and the other the right arm. At this moment Steigal recognised the wounded man as a settler living up Pond River some two or three miles; and perceiving some of the rest of the party in the act of levelling their pieces, Steigal exclaimed ‘don’t shoot, it’s George Smith!’ The unfortunate man, who knew Squire McBee, now calling him by name apologised for his singular conduct by saying, that he was nearly bereft of his senses, expecting every moment that the Harpes would kill him, and when he treed he had not recovered from his fright and was totally unfitted to perceive the folly and madness of the act. Little Harpe, he said, had met him with his gun in one hand, and a kettle in the other, going after water; and made enquiries about the settlements, speaking in an elevated tone, evidently that his brother might hear from the camp, not more than eighty rods distant, and come to his aid—such at least was the effect, intentional or not, for Big Harpe rode up and dismounted, and had been there but a few moments when McBee and his party unexpectedly made their appearance. Smith desired Squire McBee to assist him home, which with pleasure he consented to do after the Harpes were secured. He redeemed his promise, and in time Smith recovered both from his fright and his wounds [corrected by Draper to read: ‘Smith hobbled home by himself and in due time etc.’].

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