had known his people, and had been to Paris. He saw a tall man, of a
spare and sinewy frame, with red hair, lightly powdered, and keen blue
eyes. Lewis Rand's cheek grew red, and his eyes at once shy and eager.
He stammered when he spoke. "Are you from Albemarle, sir?"

The other smiled, a bright and gracious smile, irradiating his ruddy,
freckled face. "I am," he said.

"From--from Monticello?"

"From Monticello." The speaker, who loved his home with passion, never
uttered its name without a softening of the voice. "From Monticello," he
said again. "There are books enough there, my lad. Some day you shall
ride over from the Three-Notched Road, and I will show you them."

"I will come," said Lewis Rand. The colour deepened in his face and a
moisture troubled his vision. The shop, the littered counter, the
guardian of the books, and President Washington's Secretary of State
wavered like the sunbeam at the door.

Jefferson ran his hand over the row of books. "Mr. Smith, give the lad
old Coke, yes, and Locke on Government, and put them to my
account.--Where do you go to school?"

The boy swallowed hard, straightened his shoulders, and looked his
questioner in the face. "Nowhere, sir--not now. My father hates
learning, and I work in the fields. I am very much obliged to you for
the books,--and had I best buy Blackstone with the two dollars?"

The other smiled. "No, no, not Blackstone. Blackstone's frippery. You've