rife with the struggle and intrigue of the great canal cutting. It really
was a ripping play he told himself with a smile--and this other? He
looked at it a moment in a detached way. This other throbbed.

He gathered the papers together in his hand and walked to the window. The
sun was now aslant through the trees. It was late and they must have all
gone their ways from across the street; only the major would be alone and
appreciative. Andrew smiled quizzically as he regarded the pages in his
hand--but it was all so to the good to read the stuff to the old fellow
with his Immortals ranged round!

"Great company that," he mused to himself as he let himself out of the
apartment. And as he walked slowly across the street and into the
Buchanan house, Fate took up the hand of Andrew Sevier and ranged his
trumps for a new game.

In the moment he parted the curtains and stepped into the library the old
dame played a small signal, for there, in the major's wide chair, sat
Caroline Darrah Brown with her head bent over a large volume spread open
upon the table.

"Oh," she said with a quick smile and a rose signal in her cheeks,
"the major isn't here! They came for him to go out to the farm to see
about--about grinding something up to feed to--to--something or
sheep--or--," she paused in distress as if it were of the utmost
importance that she should inform him of the major's absence.

"Silo for the cows," he prompted in a practical voice. It was well a
practical remark fitted the occasion for the line from old Ben Jonson,
which David had only a few hours ago accused him of plagiarizing, rose to