on his ill-conditioned horse.

"President Garnet! I hope yo' well, sir? Aw at least," noticing the lame
arm, "I hope yo' mendin'."

"Thank you, Brother March, I'm peart'nin, as they say." The Major smiled
broadly until his eye fell again upon the mulatto. The Judge saw him
stiffen.

"C'nelius only got back Sad'day," he said. The mulatto crouched in his
saddle and grinned down upon his mule.

"He told me yo' wound compelled slow travel, sir; yes, sir. Perhaps I
ought to apologize faw hirin' him, sir, but it was only pending yo'
return, an' subjec' to yo' approval, sir."

"You have it, Brother March," said Major Garnet suavely, but he flashed
a glance at the teamster that stopped his grin, though he only said,
"Howdy, Cornelius."

"Brother March, let me make you acquainted with one of our boys. You
remember Squire Ravenel, of Flatrock? This is the only son the war's
left him. Adjutant, this is Judge March of Widewood, the famous Widewood
tract. Jeff-Jack was my adjutant, Brother March, for a good while,
though without the commission."

The Judge extended a beautiful brown hand; the ragged youth grasped it
with courtly deference. The two horses had been arrogantly nosing each
other's muzzles, and now the Judge's began to work his hinder end around
as if for action. Whereupon:

"Why, look'e here, Brother March, what's this at the back of your
saddle?"

The Judge smiled and laid one hand behind him. "That's my John--Asleep,
son?--He generally is when he's back there, and he's seldom anywhere
else. Drive on, C'nelius, I'll catch you."

As the wagon left them the child opened his wide eyes on Jeff-Jack, and
Major Garnet said:

"He favors his mother, Brother March--though I haven't seen--I declare
it's a shame the way we let our Southern baronial sort o' life make us
such strangers--why, I haven't seen Sister March since our big union
camp meeting at Chalybeate Springs in '58. Sonnie-boy, you ain't
listening, are you?" The child still stared at Jeff-Jack. "Mighty
handsome boy, Brother March--stuff for a good soldier--got a little
sweetheart at my house for you, sonnie-boy! Rosemont College and
Widewood lands wouldn't go bad together, Brother March, ha, ha, ha! Your
son has his mother's favor, but with something of yours, too, sir."

Judge March stroked the tiny, bare foot. "I'm proud to hope he'll favo'
his mother, sir, in talents. You've seen her last poem: 'Slaves to ow
own slaves--Neveh!' signed as usual, Dap