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“When the carriages formed in line I saw Aleck leaning against the fence, and the undertaker’s man was on the hearse. I caught Aleck’s eye and beckoned to him.

“‘What’s the matter, Aleck? Why aren’t you on the hearse?’

“‘De undertaker man wouldn’t let me, Sammy; an’ I didn’t like to ‘sturb you an’ de mistis.’

“The tears stood in his eyes.

“‘Go find him and bring him to me,’ I said.

“When he came I told him the funeral would stop where it was if he didn’t carry out my orders.

“He said there was some mistake, though I didn’t believe it, and went off with Aleck. As we turned out of the gate and into the road I caught sight of the hearse, Aleck on the box. He sat bolt upright, head erect, the reins in one hand, the whip resting on his knee, as I had seen him do so often when driving my father–grave, dignified, and thoughtful, speaking to the horses in low tones, the hearse moving and stopping as each carriage would be filled and driven ah pad.

“He wouldn’t drive the hearse back; left it standing at the gate of the cemetery. I heard the discussion, but I couldn’t leave my mother to settle it.

“‘I ain’t gwine to do it,’ I heard him say to the undertaker. ‘It was my marster I was ‘tendin’ on, not yo’ horses. You can drive ’em home yo’-self.'”

My companion settled himself in his chair, rested his head on his hand, and closed his eyes. I remained silent, watching him. His cigar had gone out; so had mine. Once or twice a slight quiver crossed his lips, then his teeth would close tight, and again his face would relapse into calm impassiveness.

At this instant the curtains of the smoking-room parted and the Pullman porter entered.

“Your berth’s all ready, Major,” said the porter.

My companion rose from his chair, straightened his leg, held out his band, and said:

“You can understand now, sir, how I feel about these continued outrages. I don’t mean to say that every man is like Aleck, but I do mean to say that Aleck would never have been as loyal as he is but for the way my father brought him up. Good-night, sir.”

He was gone before I could do more than express my thanks for his confidence. It was just as well–any further word of mine would have been superfluous. Even my thanks seemed out of place.

In a few minutes the porter returned with, “Lower Four’s all ready, sir.”

“All right, I’m coming. Oh, porter.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Porter, come closer. Who is that gentleman I’ve been talking to?”

“That’s Major Sam Garnett, sir.”

“Was he in the war?”

“Yes, sir, he was, for a fact. He was in de Cavalry, sir, one o’ Morgan’s Raiders. Got more’n six bullets in him now. I jes’ done helped him off wid his wooden leg. It was cut off below de knee. His old man Aleck most generally takes care of dat leg. He didn’t come wid him dis trip. But he’ll be on de platform in de mornin’ a-waitin’ for him.”