maturity behind the columns of a Greek portico. Against the uncounted
generations of gentlepeople that ran behind him to sunny England, how little
could the short sleep of three in the hills count! It may take three
generations to make a gentleman, but one is enough, if the blood be there, the
heart be right, and the brain and hand come early under discipline.

It was to General Dean that the Major told Chad's story first. The two old
friends silently grasped hands, and the cloud between them passed like mist.

"Bring him over to dinner on Saturday, Cal--you and Miss Lucy, won't you? Some
people are coming out from town." In making amends, there was no half-way with
General Dean.

"I will," said the Major, "gladly."

The cool of the coming autumn was already in the air that Saturday when Miss
Lucy and the Major and Chad, in the old carriage, with old Tom as driver and
the pickaninny behind, started for General Dean's. The Major was beautiful to
behold, in his flowered waistcoat, his ruffled shirt, white trousers strapped
beneath his highly polished, high-heeled boots, high hat and frock coat, with
only the lowest button fastened, in order to give a glimpse of that wonderful
waistcoat, just as that, too, was unbuttoned at the top that the ruffles might
peep out upon the world. Chad's raiment, too, was a Solomon's--for him. He had
protested, but in vain; and he, too, wore white trousers with straps,
high-heeled boots, and a wine-colored waistcoat and slouch hat, and a brave,
though very conscious, figure he made, with his tall body, well-poised head,
strong shoulders and thick hair. It was a rare thing for Miss Lucy to do, but
the old gentlewoman could not resist the Major, and she, too, rode in state
with them, smiling indulgently at the Major's quips, and now, kindly, on Chad.
A drowsy peace lay over the magnificent woodlands, unravaged then except for