He had been promised work, carrying newspapers, and the Yankee in him made him believe he could find work for the other horse.
As the boy turned into Main Street waving his mother good-by, he saw the places where he and Ellen Culpepper had stopped the night before, and they looked different some way, and he could not realize that he was in the same street.
As he climbed the hill, he passed General Ward, working in his flower garden, and the man sprang over the fence and came into the road, and put his hand on the horse's bridle, saying, "Stop a minute, John: I just wanted to say something." He hesitated a moment before going on: "You know back where I came from--back in New England--the name of John Barclay stands for a good deal--more than you can realize, John.
Your father was one of the first martyrs of our cause.

I guess your mother never has told you, but I'm going to--your father gave up a business career for this cause.

His father was rich--very rich, and your grandfather was set on your father going into business." John looked up the hill toward the Hendricks home, and Ward saw it, and mistook the glance for one of impatience.

"Johnnie," said the man, his fine thin, features glowing with earnestness, "Johnnie--I wish I could get to your heart, boy.

I want to make you hear what I have to say with your soul and not with your ears, and I know youth is so deaf.