Damory Court is a big estate. It has grain lands and
forest as well. If my ancestors lived from it, I can. It's not only
that," he went on more slowly, "I want to make the most of the place for
its own sake, too. Not only of its possibilities for earning, but of its
natural beauties. I lack the resources I once had, but I can give it
thought and work, and if they can bring Damory Court back to anything
even remotely resembling what it once was, I'll not spare either."

The major smote his knee and even the doctor's face showed a grim, if
transient approval. "I believe you'll do it!" exclaimed the former. "And
let me say, sah, that the neighborhood is not unaware of the splendid
generosity which is responsible for the present lack of which you
speak."

Valiant put out his hand with a little gesture of deprecation, but the
other disregarded it. "Confound it, sah, it was to be expected of a
Valiant. Your ancestors wrote their names in capital letters over this
county. They were an up and down lot, but good or bad (and, as Southall
says, I reckon"--he nodded toward the great portrait above the
couch--"they weren't all little woolly lambs) they did big things in a
big way."

Valiant leaned forward eagerly, a question on his lips. But at the
moment a diversion occurred in the shape of Uncle Jefferson, who
reentered, bearing a tray on which sat sundry jugs and clinking
glasses, glowing with white and green and gold.

"You old humbug," said the doctor, "don't you know the major's that
poisoned with mint-juleps already that he can't get up before eight in
the morning?"

"Well, suh," tittered Uncle Jefferson, "Ah done foun' er mint-baid down
below de kitchens dis mawnin'. Yo'-all gemmun' 'bout de bigges' expuhts
in dis yeah county, en Ah reck'n Mars' Valiant sho' 'sist on yo'
samplin' et."

"Sah," said the major feelingly, turning to his host, "I'm proud to
drink your health in the typical beverage of Virginia!" He touched
glasses with Valiant and glared at the doctor, who was sipping his own
thoughtfully. "In my travels," he said, "I have become acquainted with a
drink called pousse-cafe, which contains all the colors of the rainbow.
But for chaste beauty, sah, give me this. No garish combination, you
will observe. A frosted goblet, golden at the bottom as an autumn
corn-ear, shading into emerald and then into snow. On top a white rim of
icebergs with the mint sprigs like fairy pine-trees. Poems have been
written on the