"Thank'ee, Mr. Rand, I will. Your room's all ready, sir, and Burwell
shall bring you a julep. I reckon you're pretty tired. Lord! I'd rather
clear a mountain side and then plough it, than to have to sit there all
day on that there Justice's Bench and listen to them Federalists!
They're a lot! And that Fairfax Cary--he's a chip of the old block, he
surely is! He'd have gone through fire to-day to see his brother win.
This way, gentlemen! Sally'll have supper ready in a jiffy. I smell the
coffee now. Well, well, Mr. Rand! to think of the way you used to trudge
up here all weathers, snow or storm or hot sun, just for a book--and now
you come riding in on Selim, elected to Richmond, over the heads of the
Carys! Life's queer, ain't it? We'll hear of you at Fontenoy next!"

Rand smiled. "Life's not so queer as that, Mr. Bacon. I wish you
might--" he broke off.

"Might what?" asked Bacon.

"Hear of me at Fontenoy," answered Rand, and entered the wide hall as
one who was at home there. "I'll go bathe my face and hands," he said,
and turned into the passage that led to the bedrooms.

A tall clock struck the hour, a bell rang cheerfully, and Burwell flung
open the dining-room door. Rand, entering a moment later, found the
overseer, the hunter, and the dancing master awaiting him. With a nod
and a "Ha, Burwell!" for the old servant, he took his place at the
table, and he took it like a prince, throwing his tall, vigorous figure
into the armchair which marked the head of the board, seating himself
before the other and older men. In the wave of his hand toward the
three remaining places there was a condescension not the less remarkable
that it was entirely unconscious. The life within him was moving with