“Al_do_ yer sees me gwine ’long so,
  I has my troubles heah below.”

At last, discovering Mr. Grey, she rose and dropped a courtesy.

“Mornin’, Mars Ned.”

“Well, Winnie, you forgot your Virginia raising yesterday.  What is all this about your feather-bed?”

“Well, Mars Ned, dey dun stole it.”

“Who stole it?”

“Dah, honey, de Lawd only knows, an’ he ain’t gwine ter tell.  I dun loss it anyhow, an’ my pore ole bones mity sore sleepin’ on dem shucks.”

Mr. Grey, finding that the old creature’s grievance was very real to her, refrained from scolding, and, passing out through the little flower-garden, proceeded to the stable to feed the stock, a piece of work which before the war had employed many hands, but which now was performed by himself, assisted only by one negro man.

Upon the summer air rang the sweet voice of Nelly as she sang at her work.  In the scented garden Mrs. Grey with her little boy weeded and trimmed and twined the lovely flowers, feeling really a greater delight in the fruit of their labor than if they had no real acquaintance with the flowers, but only received them from the hands of a gardener.

Dear reader, we must now say farewell to our Nelly.  Let us hope that the clouds which darkened her childhood and early youth have passed never to return, and that although “into each life some rain must fall,” her rainy days may be few and far between.

CHAPTER II.

BRAVE BOYS.

I believe I may safely say that no cause ever fought for, no army ever raised, numbered among its adherents and soldiers so many mere boys as rallied around “The Bonnie Blue Flag,” bringing to its defence the ardor of youth, added to unquestioning loyalty and Spartan bravery.  Aye, more wonderful, more worthy of admiration than the bravery of the Spartan youth, because our Southern boys had, up to the beginning of the war, known nothing of hardship or danger.  Yet they met with splendid courage all that fell to their lot as soldiers, fighting with an impetuosity and determination which equalled that of the oldest veterans.  My book contains already many instances of lofty courage and patient endurance as shown by boys.  I will add one or two incidents worthy of record.

In one of the companies of the Third Lee Battalion was a bright Irish boy named Flannagan, who had been brought to Virginia by one of the officers as his attendant.  During the seven days’ fight around Richmond this child, having procured a small shot-gun, fought with the best of them, coming out safe and sound.  I learned this little history from a soldier who knew the boy.  Flannagan now lives in Texas.

It is well known that the boys of the Virginia University did excellent service under “Stonewall” Jackson.  Here is a story of some other school-boys, related to me by their teacher, himself a brave soldier who lost an arm in one of the battles around Richmond.