cres, as if money were not cheaper than a
slit wizzand!"

I was deeply solemnized, though I scarce understood the full drift of
his words, and the queer thing was that I was not ill-pleased. I had
come out to seek for trade, and it looked as if I were to find war. And
all this when I was not four hours landed.

"What think you of that?" he asked, as I kept silent, "I've been
warned. A man I know on the Rappahannock passed the word that the Long
House was stirring. Tell that to the gentry in James Town. What side
are you going for, young sir?"

"I'll take my time," I said, "and see for myself. Ask me again this day
six months."

He laughed loud. "A very proper answer for a Scot," he cried. "See for
yourself, travel the country, and use the wits God gave you to form
your judgment."

He paid the lawing, and said he would put me on the road back. "These
alleys are not very healthy at this hour for a young gentleman in braw
clothes."

Once outside the tavern he led me by many curious by-paths till I found
myself on the river-side just below the Court-house. It struck me that
my new friend was not a popular personage in the town, for he would
stop and reconnoitre at every turning, and he chose the darkest side of
the road.

"Good-night to you," he said at length. "And when you have finished
your travels come west to the South Fork River and ask for Simon Frew,
and I'll complete your education."

I went to bed in a glow of excitement. On the morrow I should begin a
new life in a world of wonders, and I rejoiced to think that there was
more than merchandise in the prospect.

CHAPTER VI.

TELLS OF MY EDUCATION.

I had not been a week in the place before I saw one thing very clear--
that I should never get on with Mr. Lambie. His notion of business was
to walk down the street in a fine coat, and to sleep with a kerchief
over his face in some shady veranda. There was no vice in the creature,
but there was mighty little sense. He lived in awe of the great and
rich, and a nod from a big planter would make him happy for a week. He
used to deafen me with tales of Colonel Randolph, and worshipful Mr.
Carew, and Colonel Byrd's new house at Westover, and the rare fashion
in cravats that young Mr. Mason showed at the last Surrey horse-racing.
Now when a Scot chooses to be a sycophant, he is more whole-hearted in
the job than any one else on the globe, and I grew very weary of Mr.
Lambie. He was no better than an old