no objection." Crenshaw
glanced at Bladen.

"Oh, by all means," said the latter. Spasms of delight shook the small
figure, and with a murmur that was meant for thanks he backed from the
room, closing the door. Bladen glanced inquiringly at Crenshaw.

"You want to know about him, sir? Well, that's Hannibal Wayne Hazard."

"Hannibal Wayne Hazard?" repeated Bladen.

"Yes, sir; the general was the authority on that point, but who Hannibal
Wayne Hazard is and how he happens to be at the Barony is another
mystery--just wait a minute, sir--" and quitting his chair Mr.
Crenshaw hurried from the room to return almost immediately with a tall
countryman. "Mr. Bladen, this is Bob Yancy. Bob, the gentleman, wants to
hear about the woman and the child; that's your story."

"Howdy, sir," said Mr. Yancy. He appeared to meditate on the mental
effort that was required of him, then he took a long breath. "It was
this a-ways--" he began with a soft drawl, and then paused. "You give me
the dates, Mr. John, fo' I disremember."

"It was four year ago come next Christmas," said Crenshaw.

"Old Christmas," corrected Mr. Yancy. "Our folks always kept the old
Christmas like it was befo' they done mussed up the calendar. I'm agin
all changes," added Mr. Yancy.

"He means the fo'teenth of December," explained Mr. Crenshaw.

"Not wishin' to dispute your word, Mr. John, I mean Christmas," objected
Yancy.

"Oh, very well, he means Christmas then!" said Crenshaw.

"The evening befo', it was, and I'd gone to Fayetteville to get my
Christmas fixin's; there was right much rain and some snow falling." Mr.
Yancy's guiding light was clearly accuracy. "Just at sundown I hooked up
that blind mule of mine to the cart and started fo' home. As I got shut
of the town the stage come in and I seen one passenger, a woman. Now
that mule is slow, Mr. John; I'm free to say there are faster mules,
but a set of harness never went acrost the back of a slower critter
than that one of mine." Yancy, who thus far had addressed himself to
Mr. Crenshaw, now turned to Bladen. "That mule, sir, sees good with his
right eye, but it's got a gait like it was looking fo' the left-hand
side of the road and wondering what in thunderation had got into it
that it was acrost the way; mules are gifted with some sense, but mighty
little judgment."

"Never mind the mule, Bob," said Crenshaw.

"If I can't make the gentleman believe in the everlasting slowness of
that mule of min