ecause you used to make faces at me," replied Bethune, half laughing.

"Why, so did Nan," Gabriel rejoined. "Mine must have been terrible ones
for you to remember them so well."

The reference to Nan struck Bethune, and he began to gnaw at the end of
his thumb, whereupon Mr. Sanders smiled broadly. The young man reflected
a moment and then remarked, his face a trifle redder than usual; "Isn't
the young lady old enough for you to call her Miss Dorrington?"

"She is," replied Gabriel; "but if she permits me to call her Nan, why
should any one else object?"

There was no answer to this, but presently Bethune turned to Gabriel and
said: "Why do you dislike me, Tolliver?"

For a little time the lad was silent; he was trying to formulate his
prejudices into something substantial and sufficient, but the effort was
a futile one. While he was silent, Bethune regarded him with a curious
stare. "Honestly," said Gabriel, "I can give no reason; and I'm not sure
I dislike you. But you always held your head so high that I kept away
from you. I had an idea that you felt yourself above me because my
grandmother is not as rich as the Cloptons."

The statement seemed to amaze Bethune. "You couldn't have been more than
ten or twelve when I left here for the war," he remarked.

"Yes, I was more than thirteen," Gabriel replied.

"Well, I never thought that a boy so young could have such thoughts,"
Bethune declared.

"Pooh!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders; "a fourteen-year-old boy can have some
mighty deep thoughts, specially ef he' been brung up in a house full of
books, as Gabriel was. I hope, Gabriel," he went on, "that you'll stick
to your cornstalk hoss as long as you want to. You'll live longer for
it, an' your friends will love you jest the same. Frank here has never
been a boy. Out of bib an' hippin, he jumped into long britches an' a
standin' collar, an' the only fun he ever had in his life he got kicked
out of college for, an' served him right, too. I'll bet you a thrip to a
pint of pot-licker that Nan'll ride a stick hoss tomorrer ef she takes a
notion--an' she's seventeen. Don't you forgit, Gabriel, that you'll
never be a boy but once, an' you better make the most on it whilst you
can."

The waggon came just then to the brow of the hill that overlooked Shady
Dale, and here Mr. Sanders brought his team to a standstill. It had been
many long months since his eyes or Bethune's had gazed on the familiar
scene. "I'll tell you what's