At this, the little vertical shadows on Ramsey's forehead became more
pronounced, for he had succeeded in thinking. "Well, _they_ didn't know
they couldn't, did they?" he argued. "They thought they were goin' to
win, didn't they?"

"Yes, I guess they did. Up till toward the last, I suppose they probably
did. But you see they were wrong."

"Well, but--" Ramsey struggled. "Listen! Listen here, Grandpa! Well,
anyway, if they never got scared _we'd_ win, and nobody got scared
_they'd_ win--well, I don't see--"

"You don't see what?"

But Ramsey found himself unable to continue his concentration; he
slumped down upon the small of his back, and his brow relaxed to its
more comfortable placidity, while his eyes wandered with a new butterfly
fluttering over the irises that bordered the iron picket fence at the
south side of the yard. "Oh, nothin' much," he murmured.

"I see." And his grandfather laughed again. "You mean: If the Rebels
felt just as sure of winning the war as we did, and kept winning battles
why shouldn't we ever have had any doubts that we were going to win?
That's it, isn't it?"

"I guess so, Grandpa."

"Well, I think it was mostly because we were certain that we were
right."