"
"Do, John." She leaned over in her interest.
"Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's and to God the things
which are God's." The seriousness of the upturned face for a moment kept
her silently reflective.
"Caesar! What of Caesar, John?"
"My country, of course; that is simple. The rest, Leila, covers
all--almost all of life and needs no comment. But how serious we are.
Tell me all about home and the village and the horses and Uncle Jim.
He has some grey hairs."
"He may well have grey hairs, John. The times are bad. He is worried.
Imagine Uncle Jim economical!"
"Incredible."
"Yes. He told me that his talk with Colonel Beauregard had made him
despair of a peaceful ending, and usually he is hopeful."
"Well, don't make me talk politics. We rarely do. Isn't this outlook
beautiful? People rarely come here and it often gives me a chance to be
alone and to think."
"And what do you think about, John?" She was again curious.
"Oh, many things, big and little. Uncle Jim, Aunt Ann, Mr. Rivers,
Dixy--hornets, muskrats," he laughed. She noted the omission of Leila
Grey.
"And what else?"
"Oh, the tragedy of Arnold,--the pathos of Washington's despair,--his
words, 'Who is there now I can trust?'"
"It came home to me, John, this morning when Colonel Beauregard showed us
the portraits of the major-generals of the Revolution.
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