glad to see you! I told aunt no one must go for you but me.
Get in. And Billy, look out how you drive."

Billy, bewildered by the tall figure in cadet jacket and grey pantaloons,
needed the warning.

Then there was the avenue, the big grey pine, home, and Aunt Ann's kiss
of welcome. The old familiar life was again his. He rode with the Squire
or Leila, swam, and talked to Rivers whenever he could induce the too
easily tired man to walk with him. He was best pleased to do so when
Leila was of the party. Then at least the talk was free and wandered from
poetry and village news to discussion of the last addition to the causes
of quarrel between the North and South. When tempted to speak at length,
Rivers sat down.

"How can a man venture to speak, John, like Mr. Jefferson Davis? Have you
read his speech?"

"No, sir."

"Well, he says the importation of Africans ought to be left to the
States--and the President. He thinks that as Cuba is the only spot in the
civilized world where the African slave-trade is permitted, its cession
to us would put an end to that blot on civilization. An end to it,
indeed! Think of it!" His voice rose as he spoke. "End slavery and you
end that accursed trade. And to think that a woman like Ann Penhallow
should think it right!" Neither John nor Leila were willing to discuss
their aunt's definitely held views.

"I think," said Leila, who had listened silently, "Aunt Ann has lost or
put aside her interest in politics."

"I wish I could," said John. "But what do you mean, Leila? She has never
said so."

"It's just this. Aunt Ann told me two weeks ago that Uncle Henry Grey was
talked of as a delegate to the Democratic Convention to meet next year.
Now her newspapers remain unopened. They are feeding these dissensions
North and South. No wonder she is tired of it all. I am with Uncle Jim,
but I hate to wrangle over politics like Senator Davis and this new man
Lincoln--oh, and the rest. No good comes of it. I can't see it as you do,
Mr. Rivers."

"And yet, I am right," said Rivers gravely. "God knows. It is in His
hands."

"What Aunt Ann thinks right," said Leila, "can't be so unpardonably
wicked." She spoke softly. "Oh, John, look at that squirrel. She is
carrying a young one on her back--how pretty! She has to do it. What a
lovely instinct. It must be heavy."

"I suppose," said Rivers, "we all have loads we must carry, are born to
carry--"

"Like the South, sir," said John. "We can h