s hang on to their land
in spite of hell and high-water. They count their forebears real live
people, quite capable of turning over in their graves."

"Mine are beginning to seem very real to me. Though I don't even know
their Christian names yet, I can judge them by their handiwork. The men
who built Damory Court had a sense of beauty and of art."

"And their share of deviltry, too," put in the doctor.

"I suppose so," admitted his host. "At this distance I can bear even
that. But good or bad, I'm deeply thankful that they chose Virginia.
Since I've been laid up, I've been browsing in the library here--"

"A bit out of date now, I reckon," said the major, "but it used to pass
muster. Your grandfather was something of a book-worm. He wrote a
history of the family, didn't he?"

"Yes. I've found it. _The Valiants of Virginia._ I'm reading the
Revolutionary chapters now. It never seemed real before--it's been only
a slice of impersonal and rather dull history. But the book has made it
come alive. I'm having the thrill of the globe-trotter the first time he
sees the Tower of London or the field of Waterloo. I see more than that
stubble-field out yonder; I see a big wooden stockade with soldiers in
ragged buff and blue guarding it."

The major nodded, "Ah, yes," he said. "The Continental prison-camp."

"And just over the rise there I can see an old court-house, and the
Virginia Assembly boiling under the golden tongue-lashing of lean
raw-boned Patrick Henry. I see a messenger gallop up and see the members
scramble to their saddles--and then, Tarleton and his red-coats
streaming up, too late."

"Well," commented the doctor deliberately, "all I have to say is, don't
materialize too much to Mrs. Poly Gifford when you meet her. She'll have
you lecturing to the Ladies' Church Guild before you know it. She's
sailed herself out here already, I understand."

"She called the second day: my first visitor. I've subscribed to the
Guild."

The doctor chuckled. "Blame curiosity! That woman's housemaid-silly. She
can spin more street yarn than any ten in the county. Miss Mattie Sue's
been here, too, she told me. Ah, yes,"--looking quizzically at the
tray--"I recognize the apple-butter. A pot just like that goes to the
White House every Christmas there's a Democrat there. She reminds me of
a little drab-gray wren in horn-rimmed spectacles."

"She's perfectly dear!" said Valiant, "from her hoops to the calycanthus
bud tied in th