ng when the
Mother came in with the mail, and set out in the direction of the
churchyard with its "legended tomb."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

Back in Richmond!--The Richmond he loved best--Richmond full of sunshine
and flowers and the sweet southern social life out of doors, in gardens
and porches; Richmond in summertime!

In spite of the changes his observant eye marked as he rattled over the
cobblestones toward the "Swan Tavern," on Broad and Ninth Streets, he
almost felt that he was back in boyhood. It was just such a day, just
this time of year, that--as a lad of eleven--he had seen Richmond first
after his five years absence in England.

How good it was to be back upon the sacred soil! How sweet the air was,
and how beautiful were the roses! When before, had he seen a magnolia
tree in bloom?--with its dense shade, its dark green shining foliage,
and its snow-white blossoms. Was there anything in the world so sweet as
its odor, combined with that of the roses and the other flowers that
filled the gardens? It was worth coming all the way from New York just
to see and to smell them.

He caught glimpses of one or two familiar figures as he drove along. How
impatient he was to see his old friends--everybody--white and colored,
old and young, masculine and feminine. He could hardly wait to get to
the tavern, remove the dust of travel and sally forth upon the round of
visits he intended to make. His spirits went up--and up, and finally it
was Edgar Goodfellow in the flesh who stepped jauntily from the door of
"Swan Tavern," arrayed for hot-weather calling. In spite of the summer
temperature, he looked the personification of coolness and comfort. The
taste of prosperity his lectures had brought him was evident in his
modest but spruce apparel. He had discarded the habitual black cloth for
a coat and trousers of white linen (exquisitely laundered by Mother
Clemm's capable and loving hands) which he wore with a black velvet vest
for which he had also to thank the Mother and her skilled needle. A
broad-brimmed Panama hat shaded his pale features and the grey eyes,
which glowed with happiness. As with proudly carried head and quick,
easy gait, he bore westward up Broad Street, no single person passed him
that did not turn to look with admiration upon the handsome,
distinguished stranger, and to mentally ask "Who is he?"

It so happened that Jack Mackenzie was the first acquaintance he met.

"Edgar," he said, as their ha