"I got to ack like a man now." And, saying this over and over to himself, he
went to sleep.



CHAPTER 7. A FRIEND ON THE ROAD

Rain fell that night--gentle rain and warm, for the south wind rose at
midnight. At four o clock a shower made the shingles over Chad rattle sharply,
but without wakening the lad, and then the rain ceased; and when Chad climbed
stiffly from his loft--the world was drenched and still, and the dawn was
warm, for spring had come that morning, and Chad trudged along the
road--unchilled. Every now and then he had to stop to rest his foot. Now and
then he would see people getting breakfast ready in the farm-houses that he
passed, and, though his little belly was drawn with pain, he would not stop
and ask for something to eat--for he did not want to risk another rebuff. The
sun rose and the light leaped from every wet blade of grass and bursting leaf
to meet it--leaped as though flashing back gladness that the spring was come.
For a little while Chad forgot his hunger and forgot his foot--like the leaf
and grass-blade his stout heart answered with gladness, too, and he trudged
on.

Meanwhile, far behind him, an old carriage rolled out of a big yard and
started toward him and toward Lexington. In the driver's seat was an old
gray-haired, gray-bearded negro with knotty hands and a kindly face; while, on
the oval shaped seat behind the lumbering old vehicle, sat a little darky with
his bare legs dangling down. In the carriage sat a man who might have been a
stout squire straight from merry England, except that there was a little tilt
to the brim of his slouch hat that one never sees except on the head of a
Southerner, and in his strong, but easy, good-natured mouth was a pipe of