man--" He swept about him an arm which included his own wide acres and
ours, lying there shimmering clear to the thin line of the old Blue
Ridge--"We must fight for these homes!"

My mother stirred in her chair, but she made no speech, only looked at
my father.

"You forget, Colonel," said my father in his low, deep voice, "that this
man Lincoln has not yet been elected, and that even if elected he may
prove a greater figure than we think. He has not yet had chance to learn
the South."

Orme had been standing silent, his face indifferent or faintly lighted
with an habitual cynicism. Now he broke in. "He will never be elected,"
he said emphatically. "It would ruin the entire industry of the South. I
tell you Lincoln is thinking of his own political advancement and caring
nothing for this country. The South _must_ secede, gentlemen--if you
will allow me as a stranger to venture an opinion."

My mother turned her gaze to him, but it was Sheraton who spoke.

"It goes back to the old Articles of Federation, our first compact," he
said. "From the very first the makers of this country saw that by reason
of diverse industries the South was separated from the North. This
secession has been written in the sky from the beginning of the world."

"Nay, brother Sheraton," broke in my mother eagerly "it was the union of
brothership that was written first in the sky."

He turned to her with the bow of a gentleman. "It is you ladies who knit