mation which, by reason of its source, St. George judged must be
true, and which because of its import brought him infinite pain.

"Purty soon we won't hab 'nough spoons to stir a toddy wid," Todd had
begun. "I tell ye, Marse George, dey ain't none o' dem gwine down in
dere pockets till de constable gits 'em. I jes' wish Marse Harry was
yere--he'd fix 'em. 'Fo' dey knowed whar dey wuz he'd hab 'em full o'
holes. Dat red-haided, no-count gemman what's a-makin up to Miss Kate is
gwineter git her fo' sho--"

It was here that St. George had raised his head, his heart in his mouth.

"How do you know, Todd?" he asked in a serious tone. He had long since
ceased correcting Todd for his oustpoken reflections on Kate's suitor as
a useless expenditure of time.

"'Cause Mammy Henny done tol' Aunt Jemima so--an' she purty nigh cried
her eyes out when she said it. Ye ain't heared nothin' 'bout Marse Harry
comin' home, is ye?"

"No--not a word--not for many months, Todd. He's up in the mountains, so
his mother tells me."

Whereupon Todd had gulped down an imprecation expressive of his feelings
and had gone about his duties, while St. George had buried himself
in his easy-chair, his eyes fixed on vacancy, his soul all the more
a-hungered for the boy he loved. He wondered where the lad was--why he
hadn't written. Whether the fever had overtaken him and he laid up
in some filthy hospital. Almost every week his mother had either come
herself or sent in for news, accompanied by messages expressing some new
phase of her anxiety. Or had he grown and broadened out and become big
and strong?--whom had he met, and how had they treated him?--and would
he want to leave home again when once he came back? Then, as always,
there came a feeling of intense relief. He thanked God that Harry WASN'T
at home; a daily witness of the shrinkage of his resources and the
shifts to which he was being put. This would be ten times worse for
him to bear than the loss of the boy's companionship. Harry would then
upbraid him for the sacrifices he had made for him, as if he would
not take every step over again! Take them!--of course he would take
them!--so would any other gentleman. Not to have come to Harry's rescue
in that the most critical hour of his life, when he was disowned by his
father, rejected by his sweetheart, and hounded by creditors, not one of
whom did he justly owe, was unthinkable, absolutely unthinkable, and not
worth a moment's consideration