the lad did not go to bed, he fell asleep.

Chad was moving around. First, by the light of a candle, he laboriously dug
out a short letter to the Major--scalding it with tears. Then he took off his
clothes and got his old mountain-suit out of the closet--moccasins and
all--and put them on. Very carefully he folded the pretty clothes he had taken
off--just as Miss Lucy had taught him--and laid them on the bed. Then he
picked up his old rifle in one hand and his old coonskin cap in the other,
blew out the candle, slipped noiselessly down the stairs in his moccasined
feet, out the unbolted door and into the starlit night. From the pike fence he
turned once to look back to the dark, silent house amid the dark trees. Then
he sprang down and started through the fields--his face set toward the
mountains.

It so happened that mischance led General Dean to go over to see Major Buford
about Chad next morning. The Major listened patiently--or tried ineffectively
to listen--and when the General was through, he burst out with a vehemence
that shocked and amazed his old friend.

"Damn those niggers!" he cried, in a tone that seemed to include the General
in his condemnation, "that boy is the best boy I ever knew. I believe he is my
own blood, he looks a little like that picture there"--pointing to the old
portrait--"and if he is what I believe he is, by --, sir, he gets this farm
and all I have. Do you understand that?"

"I believe he told you what he was."

"He did--but I don't believe he knows, and, anyhow, whatever he is, he shall
have a home under this roof as long as he lives."