later, "we are like two dried-up stalks of fodder, I wonder the Lord lets us live any longer."
"I reck'n He's managin' to use us some way, or we wouldn' be heah," said Peter.
"Well, all I have to say is, that if He's using me, He can't be in much of a hurry for his work," replied the colonel.
"He uses snails, en I know we ain' ez slow ez dem" argued Peter, composedly.
"I don't know. I think a snail must have made more progress since the war than I have."
The idea of his uselessness seemed to weigh on him, for a little later he remarked, with a sort of mortified smile:
"Do you think, Peter, that we would pass for what they call representative men of the New South?"
"We done had ou' day, Marse Rom," replied Peter. "We got to pass fur what we wuz. Mebbe de Lohd's got mo' use fur us yit 'n people has," he added, after a pause.
From this time on the colonel's strength gradually failed him; but it was not until the following spring that the end came.
A night or two before his death his mind wandered backward, after the familiar manner of the dying, and his delirious dreams showed the shifting, faded pictures that renewed themselves for the last time on his wasting memory. It must have been that he was once more amid the scenes of his active farm life, for his broken snatches of talk ran thus:
"Come, boys, get your cradles! Look where the sun, is! You are late getting to work this morning. That is the finest field of wheat in the county. Be careful
