en too
seriously. Whereupon, he made a most substantial apology--an apology
that took the shape of a ravenous appetite, and did more than justice to
Mrs. Hightower's fried chicken, crisp biscuits, and genuine coffee. Mr.
Chichester also made himself as agreeable as he knew how, and he was so
pleased with the impression he made that he, on his side, admitted to
himself that the Hightowers were charmingly quaint, especially the shy
girl of whom he caught a brief glimpse now and then as she handed her
mother fresh supplies of chicken and biscuits.

There was nothing mysterious connected with the visit of Mr. Chichester
to Lost Mountain. He was the agent of a company of Boston capitalists
who were anxious to invest money in Georgia marble quarries, and
Chichester was on Lost Mountain for the purpose of discovering the
marble beds that had been said by some to exist there. He had the
versatility of a modern young man, being something of a civil engineer
and something of a geologist; in fine, he was one of the many "general
utility" men that improved methods enable the high schools and colleges
to turn out. He was in the habit of making himself agreeable wherever he
went, but behind his levity and general good-humor there was a good deal
of seriousness and firmness of purpose.

He talked with great freedom to the Hightowers, giving a sort of
commercial coloring, so to speak, to the plans of his company with
respect to land investments on Lost Mountain; but he said nothing about
his quest for marble.

"The Lord send they won't be atter fetchin' the railroad kyars among
us," said Grandsir Hightower fervently.

"Well, sir," said Chichester, "there isn't much danger."

"Now, I dunno 'bout that," said the old man querulously, "I dunno 'bout
that. They're gittin' so these days they'll whirl in an' do e'enamost
anything what you don't want 'em to do. I kin stan' out thar in the
hoss-lot any cle'r day an' see the smoke er their ingines, an' sometimes
hit looks like I kin hear 'em snort an' cough. They er plenty nigh
enough. The Lord send they won't fetch 'em no nigher. Fum Giner'l
Jackson's time plump tell now, they ere bin a-fetchin' destruction to
the country. You'll see it. I mayn't see it myself, but you'll see it.
Fust hit was Giner'l Jackson an' the bank, an' now hit's the railroad
kyars. You'll see it!"

"And yet," said Chichester, turning toward the old man, as Hope might
beam benignantly on the Past, "everybody and ev