The Shades of the Wilderness | Page 6

mountain, with the cove, an' the trees, an' the green grass
growin' in it, an' the branch, with the water so clear you could see your
face in it, runnin' down the center, an' thar at the head of the cove my
cabin, not much uv a buildin' to look at, no towerin' mansion, but just a
stout two-room log cabin that the snows an' hails of winter can't break
into, an' in the door wuz standin' Mary with the hair flyin' about her
face, an' her eyes shinin', with the little feller in her arms, lookin' at me
'way off as I come walkin' fast down the cove toward 'em, returnin'
from the big war."
There was a moment's silence, and Dalton said gruffly to hide his
feelings:
"Dick Jones, by the time this war is over, and you go walking down the
cove toward your home, a man with mustache and side whiskers will
come forward to meet you, and he'll be that son of yours."
But Dick Jones cheerfully shook his head.
"The war ain't goin' to last that long," he said confidently, "an' I ain't
goin' to git killed. What I saw will come true, 'cause I feel it so strong."
"There ought to be a general law forbidding a man with a young wife
and baby to go to a war," said Harry.
"But they ain't no sich law," said Dick Jones, in his optimistic tone, "an'
so we needn't worry 'bout it. But if you two gen'rals should happen
along through the mountains uv western No'th Calliny after the war I'd
like fur you to come to my cabin, an' see Mary an' the baby an' me. Our
cove is named Jones' Cove, after my father, an' the branch that runs
through it runs into Jones' Creek, an' Jones' Creek runs into the Yadkin
River an' our county is Yadkin. Oh, you could find it plumb easy, if

two sich great gen'rals as you wuzn't ashamed to eat sweet pertaters an'
ham an' turkey an' co'n pone with a wagon driver like me."
Harry saw, despite his playful method of calling them generals, that he
was thoroughly in earnest, and he was more moved than he would have
been willing to confess.
"Too proud!" he said. "Why, we'd be glad!"
"Mebbe your road will lead that way," said Jones. "An' ef you do, jest
remember that the skillet's on the fire, an' the latch string is hangin'
outside the do'."
The allusion to the mountains made Harry's mind travel far back, over
an almost interminable space of time now, it seemed, when he was yet
a novice in war, to the home of Sam Jarvis, deep in the Kentucky
mountains, and the old, old woman who had said to him as he left:
"You will come again, and you will be thin and pale, and in rags, and
you will fall at the door. I see you coming with these two eyes of
mine."
A little shiver passed over him. He knew that no one could penetrate
the future, but he shivered nevertheless, and he found himself saying
mechanically:
"It's likely that I'll return through the mountains, and if so I'll look you
up at that home in the cove on the brook that runs into Jones' Creek."
"That bein' settled," said Jones, "what do you gen'rals reckon to do jest
now, after havin' finished your big sleep?"
"Your wagon is about to lose the first two passengers it has ever
carried," replied Harry. "Orderlies have our horses somewhere. We
belong on the staff of General Lee."
"An' you see him an' hear him talk every day? Some people are pow'ful
lucky. I guess you'll say a lot about it when you're old men."

"We're going to say a lot about it while we're young men. Good-by, Mr.
Jones. We've been in some good hotels, but we never slept better in any
of them than we have in this moving one of yours."
"Good-by, you're always welcome to it. I think Marse Bob is on
ahead."
The two left the wagon and took to a path beside the road, which was
muddy and rutted deeply by innumerable hoofs and wheels. But grass
and foliage were now dry after the heavy rains that followed the Battle
of Gettysburg, and the sun was shining in late splendor. The army,
taking the lack of pursuit and attack as proof that the enemy had
suffered as much as they, if not more, was in good spirits, and many of
the men sang their marching songs. A band ahead of them suddenly
began to play mellow music, "Partant Pour La Syrie," and other old
French songs. The airs became gay, festive, uplifting to the soul, and
they tickled the feet of