itself under the influence of the day, of wine, and the still audible
sound of horses' hoofs. "By George, Vinie! it will be a Roman road,
hard, paved, and fit for triumphs! He thinks it won't, but he's
mistaken. He doesn't see himself!"

Vinie took the pitcher from beneath the white phlox. "It's getting dark.
Tom, aren't we ever going to have that gate mended?--He's going away to
Richmond in October."

The successful candidate and Adam Gaudylock, followed by Joab on a great
bay horse, crossed Moore's Creek, and took the Monticello road. A red
light yet burned in the west, but the trees were dark along the way, and
the hollows filled with shadow. The dew was falling, the evening dank
and charged with perfume.

"I asked you to come with me," said Rand, "because I wanted to talk to
some one out of the old life. Mocket's out of the old life too, he and
Vinie. But--" he laughed. "They're afraid of me. Vinie calls me 'thir.'"

"Well, I'm not afraid of you," Adam said placidly. "No one at home at
Monticello?"

"No, but Burwell keeps a room in readiness. I am often there on errands
for Mr. Jefferson. Well, how go matters west of the mountains?"

"Christmas I spent at Louisville," answered Gaudylock, "and then went
down the river to New Orleans. The city's like a hive before swarming.
There are more boats at its wharves than buds on yonder Judas tree. And
back from the river the cotton's blooming now."