border state, which was a divided house from first to last, men still
guarded their speech. They had grown up together, and they were all of
blood kin, near or remote.

"What will it mean?" said Harry to old Judge Kendrick.

"War, perhaps, my son," replied the old man sadly. "The violence of New
England in speech and the violence of South Carolina in action may start
a flood. But Kentucky must keep out of it. I shall raise my voice
against the fury of both factions, and thank God, our people have never
refused to hear me."

He spoke in a somewhat rhetorical fashion, natural to time and place,
but he was in great earnest. Harry went on, and entered the office of
the Pendleton News, the little weekly newspaper which dispensed the news,
mostly personal, within a radius of fifty miles. He knew that the News
would appear on the following day, and he was anxious to learn what
Mr. Gardner, the editor, a friend of his, would have to say in his
columns.

He walked up the dusty stairway and entered the room, where the
editor sat amid piles of newspapers. Mr. Gardner was a youngish man,
high-colored and with longish hair. He was absorbed so deeply in a copy
of the Louisville Journal that he did not hear Harry's step or notice
his coming until the boy stood beside him. Then he looked up and said
dryly:

"Too many sparks make a blaze at last. If people keep on quarreling
there's bound to be a fight some time or other. I suppose you've heard
that South Carolina has seceded."