We stepped over to the gallery of the little tavern, where the shade was
deep and the chairs were wide and the honeysuckles sweet. I threw myself
rather discontentedly into a chair. Orme seated himself quietly in
another, his slender legs crossed easily, his hands meeting above his
elbows supported on the chair rails, as he gazed somewhat meditatively
at his finger tips.

"So you did not hear my little effort the other night?" he remarked,
smiling.

"I was not so fortunate as to hear you speak. But I will only say I will
back you against any minister of the gospel I ever knew when it comes to
riding horses."

"Oh, well," he deprecated, "I'm just passing through on my way to
Albemarle County across the mountains. You couldn't blame me for wanting
something to do--speaking or riding, or what not. One must be occupied,
you know. But shall we not have them bring us one of these juleps of the
country? I find them most agreeable, I declare."

I did not criticise his conduct as a wearer of the cloth, but declined
his hospitality on the ground that it was early in the day for me. He
urged me so little and was so much the gentleman that I explained.

"Awhile ago," I said, "my father came to me and said, 'I see, Jack, that
thee is trying to do three things--to farm, hunt foxes, and drink
juleps. Does thee think thee can handle all three of these activities in
combination?' You see, my mother is a Quakeress, and when my father
wished to reprove me he uses the plain speech. Well, sir, I thought it
over, and for the most part I dropped the other two, and took up more