still be there holding the land and running things."

"That's true," said Warner. "I've been wondering how this war would end,
and now I'm wondering what will happen after it does end. But here we
are at the gate. What big grounds! These great planters certainly had
space!"

"And what silence!" said Dick. "It's uncanny, George. A place like this
must have had a thousand slaves, and I don't see any of them rushing
forward to welcome their liberators."

"Probably contraband, gone long ago to Ben Butler at New Orleans.
I don't believe there's a soul here."

"Remember that lone house in Tennessee where a slip of a girl brought
Forrest down on us and had us cut pretty nearly to pieces."

"I couldn't forget it."

Nor could Colonel Winchester. The house, large and low, stood in grounds
covering an area of several acres, enclosed by a paling fence, now
sagging in many places. Great stone posts stood on either side of the
gateway, but the gate was opened, and it, too, sagged.

The grounds had evidently been magnificent, both with flowers and forest
trees. Already many of the flowers were blooming in great luxuriance and
brilliancy, but the walks and borders were untrimmed. The house was of
wood, painted white with green shutters, and as they drew nearer they
appreciated its great size, although it was only two stories in height.
A hundred persons could have slept there, and twice as many could have