"I am one of your father's tenants," he went on. "Ride over the
ridge yonder about half a mile, and you will see his house." I
looked at D'ri and he at me. He had grown pale suddenly, and I
felt my own surprise turning into alarm.

"Are they well?" I queried.

"Very well, and looking for you," said he, smiling.

We were up in our saddles, dashing out of the yard in a jiffy.
Beyond the ridge a wide mile of smooth country sloped to the river
margin. Just off the road a great house lay long and low in fair
acres. Its gables were red-roofed, its walls of graystone half
hidden by lofty hedges of cedar. We stopped our horses, looking
off to the distant woods on each side of us.

"Can't be," said D'ri, soberly, his eyes squinting in the sunlight.

"Wonder where they live," I remarked.

"All looks mighty cur'us," said he. "'Tain' no way nat'ral."

"Let's go in there and ask," I suggested.

We turned in at the big gate and rode silently over a driveway of
smooth gravel to the door. In a moment I heard my father's hearty
hello, and then my mother came out in a better gown than ever I had
seen her wear. I was out of the saddle and she in my arms before a
word was spoken. My father, hardy old Yankee, scolded the stamping
horse, while I knew well he was only upbraiding his own weakness.