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"Come back to take keer o' the men that yo'uns swatted last night?" said the rebel incredulously. "That haint natural. 'Taint Yankee-like. What'd yo'uns keer for 'em, 'cept to see if they'uns's dead yit, and mebbe gin 'em a prod with the bayonit to help 'em along? But they'uns's mouty nigh dead, now. They'uns can't last much longer.
What's that?" asked Nate. "License? Why, a license," explained Si, "is something you git from the County Clerk. It's leave to git married, and published in the County paper." "Don't have t' have no leave from nobody down here t' git married. Hit's nobody's business but the man's an' the gal's, an' they'uns's famblies.
He took the flag in his hands, fondly surveyed its bright folds, and then fervently kissed it. Then he said to his granddaughter: "Nance, call the boys in, that they'uns's may see thar friends 've come at last." Nance seemed to need no second bidding.
"Them Yankees is runnin' back to their camps as fast as they'uns's legs 'll carry they'uns. If yo'uns 'd had any sand, and stood yer ground, you'd 'a seed 'em. But yo' yaller hammers allers git the ager when ever a cap's busted, and run yer rabbit-gizzards out." "Y're a liar," hotly responded another voice. "Thar was more'n 50 o' them Yankees, if thar was a man.
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