Quite suddenly she wished she could talk the whole thing over with Will Deal. Will would help her know her own mind,—help her understand what love was. Of all the people she knew in the whole world, Will was the most understanding. He was so steady,—so dependable. “Oh God, bring Will Deal safe home soon to help me know.”

CHAPTER VI

And then the presidential campaign of ’64 was on in full swing. Over in town there were parades and banners and torchlights and much bombastic oratory. General Sherman was close upon Atlanta and Grandpa Deal was close upon General Sherman. For he had been delegated by Governor Kirkwood to go to the first division of General Logan’s Fifteenth Army Corps to bring the vote of the Iowa contingent back to the state. Many weeks elapsed before his return. Atlanta fell. All communication to the north was severed, for General Sherman had started on his wearisome march to the sea. And with the tramping columns rode Grandpa Deal on a horse whose mane was as black as Grandpa Deal’s own bushy head. A veritable old man of the sea he looked upon his return, grotesque appearing, with the bag of ballots swung over his shoulder by a strap, a faded carpet-bag in his one hand,—in the bag the government’s pay to many of the Iowa boys.

Abbie was “boarding around,” and was at the Deal house for the week when Grandpa came. He told his experiences to the family in high glee, his ice-blue eyes twinkling behind the bushy brows. “I’d al’a’s throw the old bag down,” he would relate with silent chuckles, “ ’n’ give it a kick for extra measure, so’s nobody’d allow the’ was any value to it,—’n’ all the time the’ was two thousand four hundred and twenty-two dollars in its old insides.”

“Did you,” Abbie moistened dry red lips, “did you—happen to see Will?”

The chuckles died. Yes, he had seen Will, had in fact kept as close to Company B, 31st Iowa Regiment as he consistently could. He had tried to make Will ride the horse a few times when he was exhausted. He had sat around the campfire with him a few nights, when the boys sang and joked and told stories to keep up their spirits. “Was the awfulest dense pitch-pine smoke from them campfires ye’d ever see. Boys used to kinda apologize to me about ’em, bein’ as how I was a sort o’ guest on the march. But I’d al’a’s tell ’em black smoke didn’t interfere much with my complexion.”

In a few minutes he said soberly: “Will’s been caught stealin’.”

“Stealing?” A sharp pang of apprehension went through Abbie. She and Grandma Deal turned to each other in mutual fright.

“Yes, sir, . . . stealin’.” Grandpa Deal’s forehead was puckered in agony.

“My boy stole?” Grandma’s little worried face took on an added anxiety.

“Twas at Savannah. Provisions was one ear of corn to the man. There was transports layin’ right out there in sight off the coast with food on for our boys. Couldn’t get in ’til fortifications fell. ’N’ then my boy . . .” His voice shook in mock sorrow. “My boy went to the corral,” the eyes began to twinkle, “ ’n’ stole two ears of corn from some army mules ’n’ boiled the corn for supper.”