The Guns of Bull Run | Page 9

bravely with Scott in
all the battles in the Valley of Mexico, but now retired and a widower,
he lived in Pendleton with Harry, his only child.
Harry approached the house slowly. He knew that his father was a man
of strong temper and he wondered how he would take the news from
Charleston. All the associations of Colonel Kenton were with the
extreme Southern wing, and his influence upon his son was powerful.
But the Pendleton home, standing just beyond the town, gave forth only
brightness and welcome. The house itself, large and low, built
massively of red brick, stood on the crest of a gentle slope in two acres
of ground. The clipped cones of pine trees adorned the slopes, and
made parallel rows along the brick walk, leading to the white portico
that formed the entrance to the house. Light shone from a half dozen
windows.
It seemed fine and glowing to Harry. His father loved his home, and so
did he. The twilight had now darkened into night and the snow still
drove, but the house stood solid and square to wind and winter, and the
flame from its windows made broad bands of red and gold across the
snow. Harry went briskly up the walk and then stood for a few
moments in the portico, shaking the snow off his overcoat and looking
back at the town, which lay in a warm cluster in the hollow below.
Many lights twinkled there, and it occurred to Harry that they would
twinkle later than usual that night.

He opened the door, hung his hat and overcoat in the hall, and entered
the large apartment which his father and he habitually used as a reading
and sitting room. It was more than twenty feet square, with a lofty
ceiling. A home-made carpet, thick, closely woven, and rich in colors
covered the floor. Around the walls were cases containing books,
mostly in rich bindings and nearly all English classics. American work
was scarcely represented at all. The books read most often by Colonel
Kenton were the novels of Walter Scott, whom he preferred greatly to
Dickens. Scott always wrote about gentlemen. A great fire of hickory
logs blazed on the wide hearth.
Colonel Kenton was alone in the room. He stood at the edge of the
hearth, with his back to the fire and his hands crossed behind him. His
tanned face was slightly pale, and Harry saw that he had been subjected
to great nervous excitement, which had not yet wholly abated.
The colonel was a tall man, broad of chest, but lean and muscular. He
regarded his son attentively, and his eyes seemed to ask a question.
"Yes," said Harry, although his father had not spoken a word. "I've
heard of it, and I've already seen one of its results."
"What is that?" asked Colonel Kenton quickly.
"As I came through town Bill Skelly, a mountaineer, shot at Arthur
Travers. It came out of hot words over the news from Charleston.
Nobody was hurt, and they've sent Skelly on his pony toward his
mountains."
Colonel Kenton's face clouded.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I fear that Travers will be much too free with
stinging remarks. It's a time when men should control their tongues. Do
you be careful with yours. You're a youth in years, but you're a man in
size, and you should be a man in thought, too. You and I have been
close together, and I have trusted you, even when you were a little
boy."

"It's so, father," replied Harry, with affection and gratitude.
"And I'm going to trust you yet further. It may be that I shall give you a
task requiring great skill and energy."
The colonel looked closely at his son, and he gave silent approval to the
tall, well-knit form, and the alert, eager face.
"We'll have supper presently," he said, "and then we will talk with
visitors. Some you know and some you don't. One of them, who has
come far, is already in the house."
Harry's eyes showed surprise, but he knew better than to ask questions.
The colonel had carried his military training into private life.
"He is a distant relative of ours, very distant, but a relative still,"
continued Colonel Kenton. "You will meet him at supper. Be ready in a
half hour."
The dinner of city life was still called supper in the South, and Harry
hastened to his room to prepare. His heart began to throb with
excitement. Now they were to have visitors at night and a mysterious
stranger was there. He felt dimly the advance of great events.
Harry Kenton was a normal and healthy boy, but the discussions, the
debates, and the passions sweeping over the Union throughout the year
had sifted into