falling into step at his side, and they continued on across the meadow
in silence.

"Do you observe the decorations of those refreshment booths?--the
tasteful disposition of our national colors, sir?" the judge presently
inquired.

Carrington smiled; he was able to follow his companion's train of
thought.

They were elbowing the crowd now. Here were men from the small clearings
in homespun and butternut or fringed hunting-shirts, with their women
folk trailing after them. Here, too, in lesser numbers, were the lords
of the soil, the men who counted their acres by the thousand and their
slaves by the score. There was the flutter of skirts among the moving
groups, the nodding of gay parasols that shaded fresh young faces, while
occasionally a comfortable family carriage with some planter's wife
or daughter rolled silently over the turf; for Boggs' race-track was a
famous meeting-place where families that saw one another not above once
or twice a year, friends who lived a day's hard drive apart even when
summer roads were at their best, came as to a common center.

The judge's dull eye kindled, the haggard lines that had streaked his
face erased themselves. This was life, opulent and full. These swift
rolling carriages with their handsome women, these well-dressed men on
foot, and splendidly mounted, all did their part toward lifting him out
of his gloom. He settled his hat on his head with a rakish slant and his
walk became a strut, he courted observation; he would have been grateful
for a word, even a jest at his expense.

A cry from Hannibal drew his attention. Turning, he was in time to see
the boy bound away. An instant later, to his astonishment, he saw a
young girl who was seated with two men in an open carriage, spring to
the ground, and dropping to her knees put her arms about the tattered
little figure.

"Why, Hannibal!" cried Betty Malroy.

"Miss Betty! Miss Betty!" and Hannibal buried his head on her shoulder.

"What is it, Hannibal; what is it, dear?"

"Nothing, only I'm so glad to find you!"

"I am glad to see you, too!" said Betty, as she wiped his tears away.
"When did you get here, dear?"

"We got here just to-day, Miss Betty," said Hannibal.

Mr. Ware, careless as to dress, with a wiry black beard of a week's
growth decorating his chin and giving an unkempt appearance which his
expression did not mitigate, it being of the sour and fretful sort;
scowled down on the child. He had favored Bog