boy's father, Andrew Sevier. We called him Andrew, the Glad. Something
has brought it all back to me to-day and with your laugh you reminded me
of him. The tragedy of it all!"

"I've always known what a sorrow it was to you, Major, and it is the
bitterness that is eating the heart out of Andy. What was it all about
exactly, sir? I have always wanted to ask you." David looked into
the major's stern old eyes with such a depth of sympathy in his young
ones that a barrier suddenly melted and with the tone of bestowing an
honor the old fire-eater told the tale of the sorrow of his youth.

"Gaming was in his blood, David, and we all knew it and protected him
from high play always. We were impoverished gentlemen, who were building
fences and restoring war-devastated lands, and we played in our shabby
club with a minimum stake and a maximum zest for the sport. But that
night we had no control over him. He had been playing in secret with
Peters Brown for weeks and had lost heavily. When we had closed up the
game, he called for the dice and challenged Brown to square their
account. They threw again and again with luck on the same grim side. I
saw him stake first his horses, then his bank account, and lose.

"Hayes Donelson and I started to remonstrate but he silenced us with a
look. Then he drew a hurried transference of his Upper Cumberland
property and put it on the table. They threw again and he lost! Then he
smiled and with a steady hand wrote a conveyance of his home and
plantation, the last things he had, as we knew, and laid that on the
table."

"No, Major," exclaimed David with positive horror in his voice.