“WAL, of all the dinners that ever a white man sot down to, this yere is the beat!”

The speaker was Godfrey Evans—a tall, raw-boned man, dressed in a tattered, brown jean suit. He was barefooted, his toil-hardened hands and weather-beaten face were sadly soiled and begrimed, and his hair and whiskers looked as though they had never been made acquainted with a comb. As he spoke he drew an empty nail-keg from its corner, placed a board over the top of it, and seating himself, ran his eye over the slender stock of viands his wife had just placed on the table.

The man’s appearance was in strict keeping with his surroundings. The cabin in which he lived and everything it contained told of the most abject[Pg 6] poverty. The building, which was made of rough, unhewn logs, could boast of but one room and a loft, to which access was gained by a ladder fastened against the wall. It had no floor and no windows, all the light being admitted through a dilapidated door, which every gust of wind threatened to shake from its hinges, and the warmth being supplied by an immense fire-place with a stick chimney, which occupied nearly the whole of one end of the cabin. There were no chairs to be seen—the places of these useful articles being supplied by empty nail-kegs and blocks of wood; and neither were there any beds—a miserable “shake-down” in one corner being the best in this line that the cabin could afford. Everything looked as if it were about to fall to pieces. Even the rough board table on which the dinner was placed would have tumbled over, had it not been propped up against the wall.

Godfrey Evans had seen better days. He had once been comparatively well off in the world; but he had lost all his property through no fault of his own, and the loss so disheartened him that he would make no effort to accumulate more. At his time of life it was too late to begin again with empty hands, he said; so he accepted the situation, but with a very[Pg 7] bad grace, and spent the most of his time in roaming about the woods with his gun on his shoulder, and the rest in bemoaning his altered circumstances, and denouncing those of his neighbors who were more fortunate than himself.

Godfrey’s family consisted of a wife and two sons—the latter aged respectively seventeen and fifteen years. His wife was a meek-faced woman who had seen a world of care and trouble, and who, while submitting patiently to her hard lot, hoped for better things, and placed unbounded confidence in her youngest son, David, who was animated by an energetic, manly spirit, which contrasted strangely with his father’s indolence and indifference. Godfrey seemed content to pass the remainder of his days in that hovel, destitute of all the comforts, and even suffering for many of the necessaries of life; but David was not. He had high aspirations, had formed plans, and, better than that, he had perseverance and pluck enough to carry them out. Of him and his brother, Daniel, we shall have more to say as our story progresses. It will be enough, now, to tell the reader that if they had been utter strangers, they could not have been more unlike each other. David was of a lively, cheerful disposition, and his entry[Pg 8] into the comfortless hovel he called home, was like a ray of sunshine bursting through a storm cloud. Daniel, on the other hand, was like his father, morose and sullen, and when he came home from the woods or the steamboat landing, where he spent the most of his time, it seemed as if a thunder cloud had suddenly settled down over the cabin.

Having drawn his nail-keg up to the table, Godfrey thrust his hand into his pocket, pulled out his jack-knife, and picking up the fork that lay beside his broken plate, held the two close together and looked at them intently for several minutes. The fork was not such a fork as the most of us use at our meals. It was simply a piece of cane sharpened at one end; and perhaps this story will fall into the hands of some who can remember, or who have heard it said, that there was a time, not so very long ago, when a good many families in the South, who had all their lives been accustomed to something better, had their choice between employing their fingers at table, or using such an implement as this we have just described.

“Look at this yere, now,” said Godfrey, “jest look at it, I say, the hul on yer, an’ then ax yerselves if it aint a purty pass fur a man to come to, who had a nice house, a fine plantation and four niggers of his own, only twelve short years ago! Eh?”

[Pg 9]“We can’t help it, father,” said Mrs. Evans, who knew that her angry husband expected her to say something. “We had comforts once, and we might have them now if—if——”

“Yes, in course we might, if them Yanks had stayed to hum, whar they belonged,” Godfrey almost shouted. “We didn’t do nothin’ to them that they should come down here an’ burn our houses an’ cotton gins, an’ steal our things, did we?”

“The Federals didn’t do it all, father,” said David. “They burned our buildings, just as they burned the buildings of almost every man who was in the rebel army; but we should have had enough left to get along with, if Redburn’s guerillas had left us alone. They didn’t leave us a bed to sleep on!”

“That’s what makes me so pizen savage agin everybody,” exclaimed Godfrey, pounding with the handle of his knife on the table. “The men what wore the same colored jacket as I did, came here and tuk what the Yanks left us. Why didn’t they go up to Gordon’s an’ clean them out too? Kase Gordon was a gen’ral, that’s why. That fuss was a rich man’s war, an’ a poor man’s fight, that’s jest what that fuss was; an’ everybody can see it now that it is done past. Men like me had to stay in the ranks an’ carry a[Pg 10] musket, an’ starve an’ freeze in the trenches—that’s what we had to do; while rich planters, like Gordon, lived high in their tents, rode their fine hosses, stole the sanitary goods the Yanks sent to their fellers in Richmond, an’ thought they was a fightin’ for the ’federacy.”

“Why, father, General Gordon was wounded no less than three times,” said David.

“S’pose he was,” replied Godfrey.

“An’ while he was fighting the Feds in front of Richmond, some more of them came here and burned down his splendid house, that ours wouldn’t have made a woodshed to, and stole everything his family had.”

“No, they didn’t do nothing of the kind,” answered his father, almost savagely. “They burned his house, I know, an’ sarved him right, too. I’m glad of it; but as fur stealin’ everything the Gordons had, that ain’t so. No ’taint. The gen’ral’s got heaps an’ stacks of money now.”

“I don’t believe it,” said David, bluntly.

“If you want me to lay that cowhide over yer shoulders right peart, you jest conspute me that ar way onct more,” said Godfrey, setting down his cup of buttermilk. “Whar did them speckled ponies[Pg 11] come from that Don and Bert ride around the country, I’d like to know, if the Gordons hain’t got no money? I was up thar the other day when it rained so hard, an’ the gen’ral, bein’ mighty perlite, axed me would I come in an set till the storm was over. Wal, I went, an’ what did I see? The fust thing I laid my eyes onto was a pianner that them gals thumps on when they had oughter be workin’ in the kitchen. They was a settin’ the table fur dinner, too; an’ didn’t I see silver forks thar, an’ white-handled knives, an’ chiny, an’ all them things that would jest set me onto my feet agin if I had the money they cost? I did, I bet ye. Hain’t got no money, hey, the Gordons hain’t? I know better. They have, an’ that’s what makes me so pizen savage. How have they got any more right to have to nor I have? We both fit the Yanks, an’ I made a poor man of myself by it, while the gen’ral is jest as well off as he ever was. Things ain’t fixed right in this yere ’arth, no how!”

“Thar they come now,” said Dan, who sat where he could look out of the door and up the road that led toward General Gordon’s plantation. “Thar they come, ridin’ them circus-hosses, and talkin’ an’ laughin’ as though they was the happiest fellers in[Pg 12] the world. Everybody is happy ’ceptin’ us. If I had what one of them ponies is wuth, I wouldn’t have to wear no sich clothes as these yere,” added Dan, raising his arm and pulling his sleeve around so that he could see the gaping rent in the elbow. “If I could run one of them hosses off an’ sell it without being ketched, I’d do it to-night!”

“O, Daniel, don’t talk so,” said his mother quickly.

“An’ why not, I’d like to know?” retorted Dan. “Has them fellers any right to go a gollopin’ about the country on horseback, while I’ve got to hoof it all the while, an’ go barefoot too?”

“No, they hain’t,” said Godfrey. “They’ve got jest as much right to hoof it as any of us; an’ we’ve got the same right to ride on horseback that they has. We could do it onct, an’ we’ll do it agin! yes, we will, fur times is goin’ to change with us, an’ purty soon too. Now, don’t forget what I’m tellin’ ye; ye’ll see the eyes of the Gordons, an’ all the rest of the folks about here, a stickin’ out as big as that,” said Godfrey, flourishing his clenched hand over the table. “As big as that, I say, an’ afore many days, too—p’rhaps next week!”

“Whats goin’ to happen, pop?” asked Dan.

[Pg 13]“Something that’ll——”

Godfrey glanced out at the door, and seeing that the boys, whose approach had started the family on this subject of conversation, were near at hand, put on a very wise look and winked knowingly at his son, who was obliged to restrain his curiosity for the present.

We must stop here long enough to say a word concerning the new-comers, as it is possible that we shall often meet them hereafter. Their names were Donald and Hubert Gordon, and they lived about a mile from the cabin in which Godfrey Evans and his family lived. And in what part of the world was that? It doesn’t much matter, for as there is more truth than fiction in some of the incidents we are about to describe, we do not care to go too much into details. It will be enough to say that the scene of our story is laid, and that all the actors therein lived, in one of our Southern States not very far from the Mississippi river. As our tale progresses some attentive reader, who has paid close attention to his history, may be able to locate the exact spot.

Two boys with more cheerful, happy dispositions than Don and Bert Gordon possessed, it would be hard to find anywhere. Don was sixteen years of[Pg 14] age and his brother one year younger. The former was a robust, manly youth, who took great delight in all out-of-doors sports, and who, like many other healthy youngsters, had some glaring faults that were the occasion of no little anxiety to his father and mother. One was his great propensity for mischief. He was not fond of books or school, but any wild scheme for “fun,” as he called it, particularly if it involved some risk on the part of those who participated in it, would enlist his hearty sympathy and cooperation. This led to the most unpleasant episode in Don’s life. He was a student at a certain high school in a neighboring city, and being thrown into the company of uneasy spirits like himself, he very soon so far forgot the solemn promises he had made his mother before leaving home, that he assisted in laying plans for mischief which others carried into execution. After that but little urging was necessary to induce him to take part in them himself; and being at last detected in some act that had been strictly forbidden, he was promptly expelled from the school.

It was wonderful what a change that made in Don Gordon. He began to see that his conduct was not calculated to gain and hold the respect of those whose[Pg 15] respect was worth having, and thus far his resolution to do better had been firmly adhered to. There is a turning point in everybody’s existence—a time when a decision made affects one’s whole after career—and who knows but this may have been the critical period in Don’s life? It was not the disgrace attending his expulsion from school that awoke him, for that had a different effect. It made him spiteful and rebellious. It was the treatment he received after he reached home. Fortunately his father and mother were the kindest parents in the world, and the friendly talk they had with Don on the evening of the day he arrived at home, opened the young man’s eyes; and every promise he made then had been faithfully kept. He and his brother were now prosecuting their studies at home under the direction of a private tutor who lived in the house with them.

Bert Gordon was not like his brother in anything except his appearance. His features resembled Don’s, but instead of the latter’s tough, wiry body, he had a slender little figure that could endure but trifling exposure and hardship, and a delicate constitution that had been badly shattered by the plague of that south-western region—the fever and ague. He took but little interest in the violent sports of which his[Pg 16] brother was so fond; and if he had consulted his own inclinations, he would any day have chosen an easy-chair and a good book in preference to a morning’s gallop. But the doctor insisted on daily exercise, and that was one reason why General Gordon had purchased the “speckled ponies” which were so obnoxious to Godfrey Evans and his son Dan.

The ponies were beauties, and Dan called them “circus hosses” because their color was piebald, like that of a performing steed he had once seen in a small show that stopped for a day at Rochdale, as the steamboat-landing three miles distant was called. Their long, wavy manes reached to their knees, their tails swept the ground as they walked, and their favorite gait was an easy amble which scarcely moved their riders in the saddles. They were not fiery or swift enough to suit Don, who always went at a high-pressure rate, but they suited Bert very well. They would stand fire like old cavalry horses, and many a fine bunch of quails and squirrels had their owners shot from their backs.

As the boys came ambling along, talking and laughing with each other as though they felt at peace with themselves and all the world, the inmates of the cabin turned to look at them.

[Pg 17]“Another dog,” growled Godfrey, as his eyes rested on a splendid young pointer that trotted along behind Don’s horse. “They’ve got a new dog every day. What it takes to keep them wuthless curs would make me rich!”

“They are not worthless curs,” said David, in a low tone. “They are fine hunting dogs, and the general has one that cost him a hundred dollars!”

“An’ the Gordons hain’t got no money, I think I heared ye say,” sneered his father. “How then can they buy dogs with a hundred dollars, I’d like to know?”

“Don’t talk so loud,” interrupted David. “You don’t want them to hear you, do you?”

“I don’t keer who hears me when I say——”

Just then there was a clatter of hoofs in front of the cabin, which ceased suddenly as the new-comers drew rein before the open door.

“Is David at—O, I beg pardon,” exclaimed a cheery voice. “We did not know you were at dinner. We will wait, as we are in no hurry.”

“I’m here, and ready to serve you any way I can,” said David, rising from the block of wood which served him for a chair. “I have finished my dinner.”

“All right,” said Don. “I’ve brought you a new[Pg 18] dog to break for me. Isn’t he a beauty? He is a present from a friend living in Memphis. He is five months old, and as I found him standing the chickens in the yard this morning, I think it high time he was taught something. I’ll give you what I promised, and what we gave you for breaking the others.”

While Don was speaking, Godfrey, who sat within reach of his son, turned about on his barrel and slily pulled David by the sleeve of his coat; but the boy paid no attention to him—that is, he did not look at him. But he did pull his sleeve out of his father’s grasp, and move toward the other side of the door out of reach.

“I’ll do the best I can with him,” said David.

“And that will be as well as anybody can do,” returned Don. “We will leave him in your charge and I hope the next time I see him, I can take him to the field for a good day’s sport. Take the best of care of him, for he is a valuable animal.”

David caught the pointer by a collar he wore around his neck, and led him behind the cabin to a kennel he had there, while the brothers, after lifting their hats to Mrs. Evans, turned about and galloped away.

“You’re a purty son, you are,” said Godfrey, as[Pg 19] David, having secured the pointer, came back and seated himself on his block of wood again. “Didn’t yer feel me a pullin’ an’ a haulin’ at yer coat, an’ tryin’ to tell yer not to promise to break that pup fur them ’ristocrats?”

“I did,” answered David.

“Then why didn’t ye pay some heed to it?”

“Because I want the ten dollars—that’s why.”

“Ten dollars!” repeated Godfrey, opening his eyes. “Is that what yer goin’ to get fur it? It’s a heap of money fur a boy like you to make so easy, an’ that’s just what makes me ’spise them Gordons so. They’ve got ten dollars to pay fur breakin’ a pup that haint wuth his salt, an’ I haint got ten cents to buy grub with. Just look at this yere!”

Godfrey went on moving his jack-knife over the table which was supplied with nothing but corn bread, fat bacon and buttermilk in the way of eatables and drinkables.

“Now aint this a purty mess for a white man an’ a gentleman to set down to? If I couldn’t remember the time when things was different, it wouldn’t be nigh so hard; but I can. ’Taint so very long ago that we had fresh meat, an’ coffee, an’ pies, an’ cakes, an’ light bread fur grub, an’ I had a pipe of store[Pg 20] tobacker to smoke arter eatin’ it; but now—dog-gone sich luck!” cried Godfrey, striking the table such a blow with his open hand that the dishes jumped into the air, and the cracked pitcher, which held what was left of the buttermilk, fell in pieces, allowing its contents to run out among the plates.

“Thar’s something else gone up,” said Godfrey, his anger appeased for the moment by the sight of the ruins of the pitcher. “An’ I haint got no stamps to buy another. Dave, I don’t keer if ye be goin’ to get ten dollars fur it, don’t ye tech that pinter pup ’ceptin’ to tote him back where he belongs. Do ye hear?”

“I reckon I do,” replied David.

“Wal, be ye goin’ to mind what I say to ye?”

“No, I aint.”

“Ye haint? I say to ye, boy,” exclaimed Godfrey, raising his hand over the table again, “boy, I say to ye——”

“Now, pop, don’t break no more dishes,” interrupted Dan, “’kase if ye do, we’ll have to eat off’n bark plates purty soon, an’ drink out’n gourds. Let Dave break the pinter pup if he wants to. What odds does it make to you?”

“It makes a heap of odds, the fust thing ye know,”[Pg 21] replied his father. “Kase they’s ’ristocrats, an’ we’ve got just as good a right to have ten dollars to pay somebody fur breakin’ our huntin’ dogs, as they have. An’ ’sides, don’t they make things wuss fur poor folks like us nor they’d oughter? They do, an’ this is the way they go about it: Look at them pack of hound dogs they brought down from Kaintuck last summer! I don’t say nothing about the money they throwed away when they bought ’em, an’ which was more’n enough to keep all our jaws a waggin’ fur one good year, I bet ye, an’ on good grub too, but I jest axes ye, what’s them hound dogs fur? Why just as soon as the leaves begin to fall, them youngsters will take to the swamps, an’ them hound dogs will go a tearin’ an’ a yelpin’ through these woods at sich a rate, that the fust thing we know the game will all be done drove out of the country, an’ we can’t get nu deer nor bar meat fur grub. That’s what makes me ’spise them hound dogs so.”

These remarks of his father’s recalled to Dan’s mind an incident that had happened during the previous spring. He brightened up suddenly as if he were thinking of something that afforded him infinite satisfaction.