thrust by
his captor, to the little home in Charlottesville the distance was
more than three hundred miles, as the crow flies, and much farther for
those that travelled on foot and not by wing, threading the winding
forest trails, wading and swimming the fords and climbing the
mountains. Yet the lad's thoughts sped across like a flash of dawn.

He lifted his head--his surroundings had, for the moment, cast the
spell of despair on him--and looked out. He seemed to see, not the
woods that hemmed in the little Indian village, but his humble home in
far away Virginia. Poor and shabby outside, inside, the "living" room
was as neat as soap and water and sand and plenty of scrubbing could
make it. The meagre furnishings were tidily arranged. He could see,
"in his mind's eye," the faces of his mother, and Mam, and Thello;
fancied he could hear the whinny with which Nat always greeted his
entrance to the stable. He imagined just what familiar task each of
them might be doing. He knew Thello's forehead was wrinkled, as always
when working, that Mam was humming a melody, and his mother's face was
anxious. He could not know that she stood by the west window looking
out toward the mountains and thinking of him and his father; nor could
he see black Sam stop at the door and with an air of importance give
to the "Missus" a letter, dingy and worn by its long journey across
the ocean, the negro scraping and bowing as he did so.

Sam was saying: "Squar, he says, 'Sam, you done tote dat yar letter
right smart to Missus Allison wid my bes' respec's. She'll be wantin'
ter read it.' Spec's it's from Lunnon. Squar, he jes' home from
Willumsburg."

"Thank you, Sam. The squire is indeed kind, and you will say that Mrs.
Allison thanks him for his kindness."

"Yass'm."

To most people the arrival of any letter was an important event in
those days, especially one from "the old country," six long weeks by
sailing vessel at best. Moreover, at that time, there was only a
weekly mail between Philadelphia and Williamsburg, unless sent by
special messenger, and then on to its destination by any chance
carrier, each person along the route being helpful in forwarding it.
So it was not surprising that Mrs. Allison eagerly opened the letter,
breaking what she recognized as the Danesford seal.

The ink on that letter has dimmed with the long years, but time has
not obliterated a certain daintiness in the writing, for Lisbeth's
innate grace was someho