thinking of.

"You'se young, Marse Rupert, an' it 'ud be purty dang'rous for a
onexperienced young gen'l'man ter lan' down in de midst er all dem
onprinciple' Yankees with a claim to hundreds of thousan's of dollars.
Marse Thomas, he's a settled, stiddy gen'l'man, en, frum what I hears, I
guess he's got a mighty 'stablished-lookin' 'pearance."

"I should like to see him," Rupert reflected aloud. "I should like to see
him."

CHAPTER XX

The years had passed for the child Sheba so sweetly, and had been so full
of simple joys and pleasures, that they seemed a panorama of lovely
changing seasons, each a thing of delight. There was the spring, when she
trotted by Tom's side into the garden and he showed her the little,
pale-green points of the crocuses, hyacinths, and tulips pushing their
way up through the moist brown earth, and when he carried her in his big
arms into the woods on the hillsides, and they saw the dogwood covered
with big white flowers and the wild plum-trees snowed over with delicate
blooms, and found the blue violets thick among the wet grass and leaves,
and the frail white wind-flowers quivering on their stems. As they went
about in this new fairyland, which came every year, and which still
seemed always a surprise, it was their habit to talk to each other a
great deal. The confidences they had exchanged when the child had not
been able to speak, and which Tom had nevertheless understood, were
enchanting things when she became older and they strayed about together
or sat by the fire. Her child thoughts and fancies might have been those
of some little faun or dryad She grew up among green things, with leaves
waving above and around her, the sun shining upon her, and the mountains
seeming to stand on guard, looking down at her from day to day, from year
to year. From behind one mountain the sun rose every morning, and she
always saw it; and behind another it sank at night. After the spring came
the summer, when the days were golden and drowsy and hot, and there were
roses and other flowers everywhere; wild roses in the woods and by the
waysides, heavy-headed beauties in their own garden, and all the beds and
vines a fine riot of colour. After these there were blackberries thick on
their long brambles, and wild grapes in the woods, and presently a
delicious snap of cold in the clear air night and morning, and the trees
were dropping golden, amber, and scarlet leaves, while under the pale
yellow o