On every side lay cultivated fields showing no
sign of war and war's ravages. From the chimneys
of the farmhouses thin ascensions of blue smoke
signalled preparations for a day's peaceful toil. Hav-
ing stilled its immemorial allocution to the moon, the
watch-dog was assisting a negro who, prefixing a
team of mules to the plough, was flatting and sharp-
ing contentedly at his task. The hero of this tale
stared stupidly at the pastoral picture as if he had
never seen such a thing in all his life; then he put his
hand to his head, passed it through his hair and,
withdrawing it, attentively considered the palm--a
singular thing to do. Apparently reassured by the
act, he walked confidently toward the road.
2: When You have Lost Your Life Consult a Physician
Dr. Stilling Malson, of Murfreesboro, having vis-
ited a patient six or seven miles away, on the Nash-
ville road, had remained with him all night. At day-
break he set out for home on horseback, as was the
custom of doctors of the time and region. He had
passed into the neighbourhood of Stone's River bat-
tlefield when a man approached him from the road-
side and saluted in the military fashion, with a
movement of the right hand to the hat-brim. But the
hat was not a military hat, the man was not in uni-
form and had not a martial bearing. The doctor
nodded civilly, half thinking that the stranger's un-
common greeting was perhaps in deference to the
historic surroundings.
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