yielded life and beauty to the full fruition of this long and silken
tendril, this white beauty of the cotton. November came and flew, and
still the unexhausted field yielded its frothing fruit.

Today seemed doubly glorious, for Bles had spoken of their marriage;
with twined hands and arms, and lips ever and again seeking their mates,
they walked the leafy way.

Unconscious, rapt, they stepped out into the Big Road skirting the edge
of the swamp. Why not? Was it not the King's Highway? And Love was King.
So they talked on, unknowing that far up the road the Cresswell coaches
were wheeling along with precious burdens. In the first carriage were
Mrs. Grey and Mrs. Vanderpool, Mr. Cresswell and Miss Taylor. Mrs.
Vanderpool was lolling luxuriously, but Mrs. Grey was a little stiff
from long travel and sat upright. Mr. Cresswell looked clean-cut and
handsome, and Miss Taylor seemed complacent and responsible. The dying
of the day soothed them all insensibly. Groups of dark little children
passed them as they neared the school, staring with wide eyes and
greeting timidly.

"There seems to be marrying and giving in marriage," laughed Mrs.
Vanderpool.

"Not very much," said Mr. Cresswell drily.

"Well, at least plenty of children."

"Plenty."

"But where are the houses?" asked Mrs. Grey.