ed, heavily shuttered windows in it, and queer holes on each
side.

"To shoot through in case of marauding Indians," answered Uncle Cradd to my
startled question, which had sprung from a suspicion that must have been
dictated by prenatal knowledge. As I entered the homestead of my fathers I
felt that I had slipped back into the colonial age of America, and I found
myself almost in a state of terror. The wide old hall, the heavy-beamed
ceiling of which was so low that you felt again hovered, was lighted by
only one candle, though a broad path of firelight lay across the dark
polished floor from the room on the left, where appeared old Rufus
enveloped in a large apron no whiter than the snowy kinks on his old head.

"Time you has worship, Mas' Cradd, my muffins and spare ribs will be done,"
he said after he had bestowed a grand bow first upon father and then upon
me, with a soft-voiced greeting of "sarvant, little Mis', and sarvant, Mas'
William."

"It is fitting that we render unto the Lord thankfulness for your return
home with Nancy, your child, William, in the first moments of your arrival.
Come!" commanded Uncle Cradd, and he led us into a huge room as low
ceilinged and dark-toned as the hall. In it there was only the firelight
and another dim candle placed on a small table beside a huge old book. With
the surety of long habit father walked straight to a large chair that was
drawn close to the hearth on the side opposite the table, behind which was
another large chair of exactly the same pattern of high-backed dignity, and
seated himself. Then he drew me down into a low chair beside him, and I
lifted up my hands, removed my hat, and was at last come home from a huge
and unreal world outside.

As I sat and gazed from the dark room through a large old window, which was
swung open on heavy hinges to allow the sap-scented breeze to drift in and
fan the fire of lingering winter, out into an old garden with
brick-outlined walks and climbing bare rose vines upon which was beginning
to be poured the silver enchantment of a young moon, Uncle Cradd, in his
deep old voice, which was like the notes given out by an ancient violin,
began to read a chapter from his old Book which began with the exhortation,
"Let brotherly love continue," and laid down a course of moral conduct that
seemed so impossible that I sat spellbound to the last words, "Grace be
with you all. Ahmen."

Then I knelt beside father, with old Rufus close behi