corn-cob with a long cane stem. The horses that drew him were a handsome pair
of half thoroughbreds, and the old driver, with his eyes half closed, looked
as though, even that early in the morning, he were dozing. An hour later, the
pike ran through an old wooden-covered bridge, to one side of which a road led
down to the water, and the old negro turned the carriage to the creek to let
his horses drink. The carriage stood still in the middle of the stream and
presently the old driver turned his head: "Mars Cal!" he called in a low
voice. The Major raised his head. The old negro was pointing with his whip
ahead and the Major saw something sitting on the stone fence, some twenty
yards beyond, which stirred him sharply from his mood of contemplation.

"Shades of Dan'l Boone!" he said, softly. It was a miniature pioneer--the
little still figure watching him solemnly and silently. Across the boy's lap
lay a long rifle--the Major could see that it had a flintlock--and on his
tangled hair was a coonskin cap--the scalp above his steady dark eyes and the
tail hanging down the lad's neck. And on his feet were--moccasins! The
carriage moved out of the stream and the old driver got down to hook the
check-reins over the shining bit of metal that curved back over the little
saddles to which the boy's eyes had swiftly strayed. Then they came back to
the Major.

"Howdye!" said Chad.

"Good-mornin', little man," said the Major pleasantly, and Chad knew
straightway that he had found a friend. But there was silence. Chad scanned
the horses and the strange vehicle and the old driver and the little
pickaninny who, hearing the boy's voice, had stood up on his seat and was
grinning over one of the hind wheels, and then his eyes rested on the Major
with a simple confidence and unconscious appeal that touched the Major at
once.