e
and fertile.

"Sir,--pardon your stopping,--in what State should I find myself at
the present?"

The person inquired of looked blank, examined the questioner from head
to foot, and replied:

"In what--oh! I understand; yes. What State--Alabama, yes, Alabama.
You must excuse me, I didn't understand you at first. Yes, this is
Alabama."

"Thank you, sir. Have you seen anywhere, coming back from the war, a
young man named 'Thanase Beausoleil?"

"Back from the war! Why, everybody done got back from the war long
ago." "Lawng ago-o-o," the speaker pronounced it, but the
pronunciation could not be as untrue as the careless assertion.

A second time, and again a third, Bonaventure fell upon the trail. But
each time it was colder than before. And yet he was pushing on as fast
as he dared. Many a kind man's invitation to tarry and rest was
gratefully declined. Once, where two railways parted, one leading
south, the other west, he followed the southern for days, and then
came back to the point of separation, and by and by found the lost
thread again on the more westward road. But the time since 'Thanase
had passed was the longest yet. Was it certainly 'Thanase? Yes; the
fiddle always settled that question. And had he not got home? He had
not come. Somewhere in the long stretch between Bonaventure and
Carancro there must be strange tidings.

On the first New Year's eve after the war, as the sun was sinking upon
the year's end, Bonaventure turned that last long curve of the New
Orleans, Jackson, and Great Northern Railroad, through the rushes,
flags, willows, and cypress-stumps of the cleared swamp behind the
city of the Creoles, and, passing around the poor shed called the
depot, paused at the intersection of Calliope and Magnolia Streets,
waiting the turn of chance.

Trace of the lost 'Thanase had brought him at length to this point.
The word of a fellow-tramp, pledged on the honor of his guild, gave
assurance that thus far the wanted man had come in strength and
hope--but more than a month before.

The necessity of moving on presently carried Bonaventure aimlessly
into the city along the banks of the New Canal. The lad had shot up in
these few months into the full stature, without the breadth, of
manhood. The first soft, uneven curls of a light-brown beard were on
his thin cheek and chin. Patient weariness and humble perseverance
were in his eyes. His coarse, ill-matched attire was whole and, but
for the soilure of