e window, might
not be offended by his horse and his figure in the road. A time came
when there was an interval of a week, and the old fellow had not shown
himself at the gin house, and one night the Major went to the cypress
log home to invade his retirement, but the place was dark. He pushed
open the door and lighted the lamp. The fireplace was cheerless with
cold ashes. He went to a cabin and made inquiry of a negro, and was told
that Mr. Batts had been gone more than a week, and that he had left no
word as to when he intended to return. Greatly worried, the Major went
home; wide awake he pondered during long hours in bed, but no light fell
upon the mystery of the old man's absence; nor in the night nor at
breakfast did the Major speak of it to his wife, but silently he took
his worry with him to his office. One morning while the planter was at
his desk, there came a storming at the dogs in the yard.

"Get down, boys. Don't put your muddy paws on me. Hi, there, Bill, you
seven years' itch of a scoundrel, take my horse to the stable."

The Major threw open the door. "Don't come out, John!" Gid shouted,
coming forward among the prancing dogs. "Don't come out, for I want to
see you in there."

He appeared to have gained flesh; his cheeks were ruddy, and his grasp
was strong as he seized the Major's hand. "How are you, John?"

"Why, old man, where on earth have you been?"

"I have been in the swamp for many years, but now I touch the ground
only in high places."

He boldly stepped into the office, and as he sat down the sweep of his
coat-tails brushed chattel mortgages and bills of sale from the desk.
"Only in high places do my feet touch the ground, John. I have just
returned from Kentucky. And I bring the news that my old uncle is no
more to this life, but is more to me than ever."

"And you were summoned to his bedside," said the Major, striving to be
serious, but smiling upon him.

"Not exactly. You might say that I was summoned by a lawyer to his
chest-side. He left me no word of affection, but his money is mine, and
on many a half-dollar of it I warrant you there is the print of his
tooth. Give me your check-book, John."

"Wait a while, Gid. Let us accustom ourselves to the situation."

"No; let us get down to business. I am impatient to pay a mildewed debt.
God's love was slow, John, but it came. How much do I owe?"

"I don't believe I'd pay it all at once, Gid. Leave a part to be met by
the next crop