ear it from?" demanded Rupert.

Uncle Matt put his foot upon a rustic seat near and leaned forward,
resting his elbow on his knee and making impressive gestures with his
yellow-palmed old hand.

"It was dishyer claimin' dat brung it about," he said; "dishyer claimin'
an' 'demnification what's been a-settin' pow'fle heavy on my min' fur
long 'nuff. Soon's I yeerd tell on it, Marse Rupert, it set me ter
steddyin'. I been a-watchin' out an' axin' questions fur weeks, an' when
I fin' out----"

"But what has that to do with Uncle Tom?" cried Rupert.

"A heap, Marse Rupert. Him an' you de onliest heirs to de De Willoughby
estate; an' ef a little hoosier what's los' a yoke er oxen kin come down
on de Guv'ment for 'demnification, why can't de heirs of a gen'leman dat
los' what wus gwine ter be de biggest fortune in de South'n States.
What's come er dem gold mines, Marse Rupert, dat wus gwine ter make yo'
grandpa a millionaire--whar is dey? What de Yankees done with dem gol'
mines?"

"They weren't gold mines, Uncle Matt," said Rupert; "they were coal
mines; and the Yankees didn't carry them away. They only smashed up the
machinery and ruined things generally."

But he laid back upon the grass again with his hands clasped behind his
head and his brow drawn down thoughtfully.

"Coal mines _er_ gol' mines," said Uncle Matt. "Guv'ment gotter 'demnify
ef things er managed right; en dat what make me think er Marse Thomas De
Willoughby when dat little Stamps feller said somep'n dat soun' like his
name. 'Now dar's D'Willerby,' he ses, 'big Tom D'Willerby,' en I jest
jumped on him. 'Did you say De Willoughby, sah?' I ses, an' from dat I
foun' out de rest."

"I should like to see him," said Rupert; "I always thought I should like
to know where he was--if he was alive."

"Why doan' you go an' see him, den?" said Matt. "Jest take yo' foot in
yo' han' an' start out. Hamlin County ain't fur, Marse Rupert, an' de
Cross-roads Pos'-office mighty easy to fin'; and when you fin' it an' yo'
uncle settin' in de do', you jest talk ter him 'bout dem gol' mines an'
dat claimin' business an' ax his devise 'bout 'em. An' ef yer doan' fin'
yo'se'f marchin' on ter Wash'n'ton city an' a-talkin' to de Pres'dent an'
de Senators, de whole kit an' bilin' of 'em, Marse Thomas ain't de
buz'ness gen'l'man what I believe he is."

Rupert lay still and looked straight before him, apparently at a bluebird
balanced on a twig, but it was not the bird he was