venue of
cedars. When the house was in sight, he stopped and held out his hand.

"May I see you sometimes?" he asked diffidently.

She spoke eagerly.

"Oh, do come to see us," she said. "Papa would enjoy talking about Judge
Bassett. He half worships him."

"So do I."

She nodded sympathetically.

"I know--I know. He is splendid! And you are doing well, aren't you?"

"I have work to do, thank God, and I do it. I can't say how."

"What does Judge Bassett say?"

He laughed boyishly. "He says silence."

She was puzzled.

"I don't understand--but I must go--I really must. It is quite dark."

And she passed from him into the box-bordered walk. He watched her tall
figure until it ascended the stone steps and paused upon the porch,
whence came the sound of voices. Through the wide open doors he could
see the swinging lamp in the centre of the great hall and the broad
stairway leading to the floor above. For a moment he stood motionless;
then, turning back into the avenue, he retraced his steps to his
father's house.

In the kitchen, where the table was laid for supper, his half-sister,
Nannie, was sewing on her wedding clothes. She was to be married in the
fulness of the winter to young Nat Turner--one of the Turners of
Nicholas's boyhood. By the light of the kerosene lamp she looked
wonderfully fair and fresh, her auburn curls hanging heavily against her
cheek as she bent over the cambric in her lap.

As Nicholas entered she looked up brightly, exclaiming: "Oh, it's you!"
in disappointed accents.

Nicholas looked about the kitchen inquiringly.

"Where's ma?" he asked, and at the instant Marthy Burr appeared in the
doorway, a pat of butter in her hand.

"Air you home, Nick?" was her greeting, as she placed the butter upon
the table. Then she went across to Nannie and examined the hem on the
cambric ruffle.

"It seems to me you might have done them stitches a little finer," she
observed critically. "Old Mrs. Turner's got powerful sharp eyes for
stitches, an' she's goin' to look mighty hard at yours. If thar's one
stitch shorter'n another, it's goin' to stand out plainer than all the
rest. It's the nater of a woman to be far-sighted at seeing the flaws in
her son's wife, an' old Mrs. Turner ain't no better'n God made her, if
she ain't no worse. 'Tain't my way to be wishin' harm to folks, but I
al'ays said the only thing to Amos Burr's credit I ever heerd of is that
he's an orphan--which he ain't responsibl