ed the corner.

"Egad," said he, "I'd take to the highway if I could be sure of holding
up such a cargo every time. Off with you, Benjy, and find out where
she lives," he cried, and the obedient Benjy dropped the saddle-bags as
though such commands were not uncommon.

"Pick up those bags, Benjy," said I, laughing.

Benjy glanced uncertainly at his master.

"Do as I tell you, you black scalawag," said Nick, "or I'll tan you.
What are you waiting for?"

"Marse Dave--" began Benjy, rolling his eyes in discomfiture.

"Look you, Nick Temple," said I, "when you shipped with me you promised
that I should command. I can't afford to have the town about our ears."

"Oh, very well, if you put it that way," said Nick. "A little honest
diversion--Pick up the bags, Benjy, and follow the parson."

Obeying Mademoiselle's directions, we trudged on until we came to a
comfortable stone house surrounded by trees and set in a half-block
bordered by a seven-foot paling. Hardly had we opened the gate when a
tall gentleman of grave demeanor and sober dress rose from his seat on
the porch, and I recognized my friend of Cahokia days, Monsieur Gratiot.
He was a little more portly, his hair was dressed now in an eelskin,
and he looked every inch the man of affairs that he was. He greeted
us kindly and bade us come up on the porch, where he read my letter of
introduction.

"Why," he exclaimed immediately, giving me a cordial grasp of the hand,
"of course. The strategist, the John Law, the reader of character of
Colonel Clark's army. Yes, and worse, the prophet, Mr. Ritchie."

"And why worse, sir?" I asked.

"You predicted that Congress would never repay me for the little loan I
advanced to your Colonel."

"It was not such a little loan, Monsieur," I said.

"N'importe," said he; "I went to Richmond with my box of scrip and
promissory notes, but I was not ill repaid. If I did not get my money,
I acquired, at least, a host of distinguished acquaintances. But, Mr.
Ritchie, you must introduce me to your friend."

"My cousin. Mr. Nicholas Temple," I said.

Monsieur Gratiot looked at him fixedly.

"Of the Charlestown Temples?" he asked, and a sudden vague fear seized
me.

"Yes," said Nick, "there was once a family of that name."

"And now?" said Monsieur Gratiot, puzzled.

"Now," said Nick, "now they are become a worthless lot of refugees and
outlaws, who by good fortune have escaped the gallows."

Before Monsieur Gratiot could an