“Major, I’m going into the Union army.”

The Major’s pipe almost dropped from between his lips.  Catching the arms of his chair with both hands, he turned heavily and with dazed wonder, as though the boy had struck him with his fist from behind, and, without a word, stared hard into Chad’s tortured face.  The keen old eye had not long to look before it saw the truth, and then, silently, the old man turned back.  His hands trembled on the chair, and he slowly thrust them into his pockets, breathing hard through his nose.  The boy expected an outbreak, but none came.  A bee buzzed above them.  A yellow butterfly zigzagged by.  Blackbirds chattered in the firs.  The screech of a peacock shrilled across the yard, and a ploughman’s singing wailed across the fields: 

Trouble, O Lawd! 
 Nothin’ but trouble in de lan’ of Canaan.

The boy knew he had given his old friend a mortal hurt.

“Don’t, Major,” he pleaded.  “You don’t know how I have fought against this.  I tried to be on your side.  I thought I was.  I joined the Rifles.  I found first that I couldn’t fight with the South, and—­then—­I—­found that I had to fight for the North.  It almost kills me when I think of all you have done "

The Major waved his hand imperiously.  He was not the man to hear his favors recounted, much less refer to them himself.  He straightened and got up from his chair.  His manner had grown formal, stately, coldly courteous.

“I cannot understand, but you are old enough, sir, to know your own mind.  You should have prepared me for this.  You will excuse me a moment.”  Chad rose and the Major walked toward the door, his step not very steady, and his shoulders a bit shrunken—­his back, somehow, looked suddenly old.

“Brutus!” he called sharply to a black boy who was training rosebushes in the yard.  “Saddle Mr. Chad’s horse.”  Then, without looking again at Chad, he turned into his office, and Chad, standing where he was, with a breaking heart, could hear, through the open window, the rustling of papers and the scratching of a pen.

In a few minutes he heard the Major rise and he turned to meet him.  The old man held a roll of bills in one hand and a paper in the other.

“Here is the balance due you on our last trade,” he said, quietly.  “The mare is yours—­Dixie,” he added, grimly.  “The old mare is in foal.  I will keep her and send you your due when the time comes.  We are quite even,” he went on in a level tone of business.  “Indeed, what you have done about the place more than exceeds any expense that you have ever caused me.  If anything, I am still in your debt.”

“I can’t take it!” said Chad, choking back a sob.

“You will have to take it,” the Major broke in, curtly, unless—­” the Major held back the bitter speech that was on his lips and Chad understood.  The old man did not want to feel under any obligations to him.