lly isolated, dispersed over it. His head was flat and bald, but for
a fringe of white wool shaped like the tonsure of a monk. He wore a
rusty pair of trousers, so patched that it was impossible to tell what
their original material had been; a brown hickory shirt tolerably new,
and suspenders made of strips of bed-ticking. His huge feet were encased
in a pair of old shoes, slit almost into shreds at the toes for the
benefit of the "mis'ry" which he frequently had there. Such was Peter,
faithful servant to the Dudleys before, during, and since the Civil
War.

"_Eatin', suh; eatin'!_" he answered, with vehemence, replying to his
master's question and accompanying the first and last words with a
forward jerk of his head, by way of emphasis.

"This is good news you bring me, boy; we must have a look at him. He's
the best bred horse in the Commonwealth," he added, to himself, as he
turned aside to place his book upon a table, carefully noting the page
as he did so. "It would be a pity in more ways than one for him to die
by accident or foul play." Then aloud--"Have you seen your mistress
recently?"

"Not since dinner, suh. I'ze heerd her say afo'time, do, dat she laks a
nap in de rainy ebenin'."

From somewhere above a voice broke out singing as Peter spoke. The tune
was a popular air of the day, lilting and free. The tones were those of
a young woman, for they rang with irrepressible vitality, and there was
hope and laughter and faith and happiness in them. The Major had started
forward, but now he stopped and his head sank as under a benediction.
Likewise did Peter's, for he always reflected his master. Thus they
stood, types of the bond and the free, while that tender voice rang on
above them as its owner moved about the room, for they could plainly
hear her light footsteps going to and fro.

In his younger years the Major must have been a man to command any one's
notice. Now, as he stood with his chin sunk in his stock under the spell
of present enchantment and precious recollections of the past, one could
behold the remnants of a magnificent physical being. He was exceedingly
tall, long of limb and square-shouldered. His hands were slender and
white; his face naturally grave and thoughtful. He was clean shaven
except for close cropped mustache and carefully cut imperial, both
white. His complexion was ruddy, but whether this was natural or
acquired it is not for us to say. Certain it is, however, that Peter
mixed