it was still piled with wounded and dead Northerners. Why, one of the
worst batteries was planted in our front porch."

This enthusiasm as to the front porch was assumed to be acceptable to
the listener. The battery might have been a Cherokee rose.

The man had listened with a quizzical light in his eyes.

"In what direction did you say that battery was pointed?"

"I didn't say; but it was pointed up this way, of course."

The man laughed outright.

"And so you followed in the direction of the deadly Southern shell and
came north--as a small grape-shot!"

"But, Mister, that was long ago. They had their quarrel out long ago.
That's the way we boys do: fight it out and make friends again. Don't
you do that way?"

"It's a very good way to do," said the man. "And so you sell papers?"

"I sell papers to people in the park, Mister, and back up on the avenue.
Granny is particular. I'm not a regular newsboy."

"I heard you singing. Does anybody teach you?"

"Granny."