As John grew sound and strong he grew busy as well. The frown of purpose
creased at times his brow. There was a "perfect gentleman" to make, and
only a few years left for his making if he was to be completed in the
stipulated time. Once in a while he contrived an errand to Fannie, but
it was always in broad day, when the flower of love is never more than
half open. The perfect transport of its first blossoming could not quite
return; the pronoun "my" was not again paraded. Only at good-by, her
eyes, dancing the while, would say, "It's all right, my Johnnie."

On Sundays he had to share her with other boys whom she asked
promiscuously,

"What new commandment was laid on the disciples?"--and----

"Ought not we also to keep this commandment?"

"Oh! yes, indeed!" said his heart, but his slow lips let some other
voice answer for him.

When she asked from the catechism, "What is the misery of that estate
whereinto man fell?" ah! how he longed to confess certain modifications
in his own case. And yet Sunday was his "Day of all the week the best."
Her voice in speech and song, the smell of her garments, the flowers in
her hat, the gladness of her eyes, the wild blossoms at her belt,
sometimes his own forest anemones dying of joy on her bosom--sense and
soul feasted on these and took a new life, so that going from Sabbath to
Sabbath he went from strength to strength, on each Lord's day appearing
punctually in Zion.

One week-day when the mountain-air of Widewood was sweet with wild
grapes, some six persons were scatteringly grouped in and about the
narrow road near the March residence. One was Garnet, one was Ravenel,
two others John and his father, and two were strangers in Dixie. One of
these was a very refined-looking man, gray, slender, and with a
reticent, purposeful mouth. His traveling suit was too warm for the
latitude, and his silk hat slightly neglected. The other was fat and
large, and stayed in the carryall in which Garnet had driven them up
from Rosemont. He was of looser stuff than his senior. He called the
West his home, but with a New England accent. He "didn't know's 'twas"
and "presumed likely" so often that John eyed him with mild surprise.
Ravenel sat and whittled. The day was hot, yet in his suit of gray
summer stuffs he looked as fresh as sprinkled ferns. In a pause Major
Garnet, with bright suddenness, asked:

"Brother March, where's John been going to school?"

The Judge glanced round upon the