"What?" shouted the Major.

Chad stated the fact with brave unconcern, but his lip quivered slightly--he
was weak.

"Well, I reckon we'll get something to eat there whether they've got anything
or not."

And then Chad explained, telling the story of his walk from Frankfort. The
Major was amazed that anybody could have denied the boy food and lodging.

"Who were they, Tom?" he asked

The old driver turned:

"They was some po' white trash down on Cane Creek, I reckon, suh. Must'a'
been." There was a slight contempt in the negro's words that made Chad think
of hearing the Turners call the Dillons white trash--though they never said
"po' white trash."

"Oh!" said the Major. So the carriage stopped, and when a man in a black
slouch hat came out, the Major called:

"Jim, here's a boy who ain't had anything to eat for twenty-four hours. Get
him a cup of coffee right away, and I reckon you've got some cold ham handy."

"Yes, indeed, Major," said Jim, and he yelled to a negro girl who was standing
on the porch of his house behind the store.