of the deeper undergrowth;
the squirrels dropped their nuts and found refuge in the topmost
branches of the tree which they had just pilfered; but the redbird,
undisturbed, went on with his caroling, too confident in his own beauty
and the charm of his song to fear any intruder.

The cause of alarm was a horseman whose approach had been proclaimed by
the crackling of dried twigs in the bridle-path he was traversing. He
was an erect, broad-shouldered, dark-eyed young man with ruddy
complexion, clear-cut features, and a well-formed chin. A rifle lay
across his saddle-bow, and behind him was a pair of bulky saddle-bags.
He wore neither the uncouth garb of the hunter nor the plain homespun
of the settler, but rather the dress of the Virginian cavalier of the
period, although his hair, instead of being tied in a queue, was short,
and curled loosely about his finely shaped head. The broad brim of his
black hat was cocked in front by a silver boss; the gray traveler's
cape, thrown back, revealed a coat of dark blue, a waistcoat ornamented
with brass buttons, and breeches of the same color as the coat,
reaching to the knees, and terminating in a black cloth band with
silver buckles.

He rode rapidly along the well-defined bridle-way, and soon emerged
into a broader thoroughfare. Presently he heard the high-pitched,
quavering notes of a negro melody, faint at first and seeming as much a
part of nature as the russet glint of the setting sun through the
trees. The song grew louder as he advanced, until, emerging into an
open space, he came upon the singer, a gray-haired negro trudging
sturdily along with a stout hickory stick in his hand. The negro doffed
his cap and bowed humbly.

"Marstah, hez you seed anythin' ob a spotted heifer wid one horn broke
off, anywhars on de road? She's pushed down de bars an' jes' skipped
off somewhars."

"No, uncle, I've met no stray cows; but can you tell me how far it is
to Major Hiram Gilcrest's? I'm a stranger in this region."

"Major Gilcrest's!" exclaimed the darkey. "You'se done pass de turnin'
whut leads dar. Didn' you see a lane forkin' off 'bout a mile back by
de crick, close to de big 'simmon-tree? Dat's de lane whut leads to
Marstah Gilcrest's, suh."

"Ah, I see! but perhaps you can direct me to Mister Mason Rogers'
house? My business is with him as well as with Major Gilcrest."

"I shorely kin," answered the negro, with a grin. "I b'longs to Marse
Mason; I'se his ole uncle Ton