them, and he often wondered then, and has wondered since, why
they were such good friends of his, and why they were constantly hunting
him up if he failed to make his appearance. Perhaps because he was so
full of unadulterated mischief. Gabriel, with all his gravity, was full
of a quaint humour, and Nan hunted for cause for laughter in everything;
and she was never more beautiful than when this same laughter had shaken
her tawny hair about her face.

We had travelled widely. Nan had been to Malvern with her father, and
had seen sights--railway trains, omilybuses, as she called them, a great
big hotel, and "oodles" of crippled persons; yes, and besides the
crippled persons, there was a blind man standing on the corner with a
big card hanging from his neck; and that very day, she had eaten
"reesins" until she never wanted 'em any more, as she said. Gabriel and
Cephas had not gone so far; but once upon a time, they went to
Halcyondale, and, among other things, had seen Major Tomlin Perdue kill
sparrows with a pistol. Nan had been anxious to go with them at the
time, but when she heard about the slaughter of the sparrows, she was
very glad she had stayed at home, for what did a grown man as old as
Major Perdue want to kill the poor little brown sparrows for? Nan's
question was never answered. Gabriel and Cephas had only seen in the
transaction the enviable skill of the Major; whereas Nan thought of
nothing but the poor little birds that had been slain for a holiday
show. "They may have been singing sparrows, or snow-birds," mourned Nan.
True enough; but Gabriel and Cephas had thought of nothing but the
skill of the marksman with his duelling pistols. Tasma Tid also had her
point of view. "Wey you no fetcha dem lil bud home fer we supper?" She
was hardly satisfied when she was told that the little birds, all put
together, would have made hardly more than a mouthful.

CHAPTER ONE

_Kettledrum and Fife_

The serene repose of Shady Dale no doubt stood for dulness and lack of
progress in that day and time. In all ages of the world, and in all
places, there are men of restless but superficial minds, who mistake
repose and serenity for stagnation. No doubt then, as now, the most
awful sentence to be passed on a community was to say that it was not
progressive. But when you examine into the matter, what is called
progress is nothing more nor less than the multiplication of the
resources of those who, by means of dicker