echoing on the stillness when a voice came from the little cot by her
bed and the General in disheveled nightshirt and rumpled head rose by
her pillow and stood with uncertain feet on his own springy place of
repose.

"Rose Mamie," he demanded in an awestruck tone of voice that fairly
trembled through the darkness, "are you a-crying?"

"Yes, Stonie," she answered in a shame-forced gurgle that would have
done credit to Jennie Rucker in her worst moments of abasement before
the force of the General.

"Does your stomach hurt you?" he demanded in a practical though
sympathetic tone of voice, for so far in his journey along life's road
his sleep had only been disturbed by retributive digestive causes.

"No," sniffed Rose Mary with a sob that was tinged with a small laugh.
"It's my heart, darling," she added, the sob getting the best of the
situation. "Oh, Stonie, Stonie!"

"Now, wait a minute, Rose Mamie," exclaimed the General as he climbed
up and perched himself on the edge of the big bed. "Have you done
anything you are afraid to tell God about?"

"No," came from the depths of Rose Mary's pillow.

"Then don't cry because you think Mr. Mark ain't coming back, like
Mis' Rucker said she was afraid you was grieving about when she
thought I wasn't a-listening. He's a-coming back. Me and him have got
a bargain."