Chad's mother, who was a lawful wife, in order to keep the land for himself;
how old Nathan had offered to give back the farm, or pay him the price of it
in livestock, and how, at old Joel's advice he had taken the stock and turned
the stock into money. How, after he had found his mother's grave, his first
act had been to take up the rough bee-gum coffin that held her remains, and
carry it down the river, and bury her where she had the right to lie, side by
side with her grandfather and his--the old gentleman who slept in wig and
peruke on the hill-side--that her good name and memory should never again
suffer insult from any living tongue. It was then that Major took Chad by the
shoulders roughly, and, with tears in his eyes, swore that he would have no
more nonsense from the boy; that Chad was flesh of his flesh and bone of his
bone; that he would adopt him and make him live where he belonged, and break
his damned pride. And it was then that Chad told him how gladly he would come,
now that he could bring him an untarnished name. And the two walked together
down to the old family graveyard, where the Major said that the two in the
mountains should be brought some day and where the two brothers who had parted
nearly fourscore years ago could, side by side, await Judgment Day.

When they went back into the house the Major went to the sideboard.

"Have a drink, Chad?"

Chad laughed: "Do you think it will stunt my growth?"

"Stand up here, and let's see," said the Major.

The two stood up, back to back, in front of a long mirror, and Chad's shaggy
hair rose at least an inch above the Major's thin locks of gray. The Major
turned and looked at him from head to foot with affectionate pride.