33 1/3. I could not rest. I took one
hundred dollars, new issue, and going by my lone self back to the old
lady's house, I said, "Madam, some soldiers were here a short time ago,
and took your hog. I was one of that party, and I wish to pay you for
it. What was it worth?" "Well, sir," says she, "money is of no value to
me; I cannot get any article that I wish; I would much rather have the
hog." Says I, "Madam, that is an impossibility; your hog is dead and eat
up, and I have come to pay you for it." The old lady's eyes filled with
tears. She said that she was perfectly willing to give the soldiers
everything she had, and if she thought it had done us any good, she would
not charge anything for it.
"Well," says I, "Madam, here is a hundred dollar, new issue, Confederate
bill. Will this pay you for your hog?" "Well, sir," she says, drawing
herself up to her full height, her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing,
"I do not want your money. I would feel that it was blood money."
I saw that there was no further use to offer it to her. I sat down by
the fire and the conversation turned upon other subjects.
I helped the old lady catch a chicken (an old hen--about the last she had)
for dinner, went with her in the garden and pulled a bunch of eschalots,
brought two buckets of water, and cut and brought enough wood to last
several days.
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