shrunk from describing it in that way. He, however, said he thought it
was a large house. Yet the modest answer only made his new friend look
at him the more keenly.

"Your father was Colonel Hamilton Brant, of Louisville, wasn't he?" he
said, half-confidentially.

"Yes," said Clarence hopelessly.

"Well," said his friend cheerfully, as if dismissing an abstruse problem
from his mind, "Let's go to supper."

When they reached the tent again, Clarence noticed that the supper was
laid only for his host and wife and the second man--who was familiarly
called "Harry," but who spoke of the former always as "Mr. and Mrs.
Peyton"--while the remainder of the party, a dozen men, were at a second
camp fire, and evidently enjoying themselves in a picturesque fashion.
Had the boy been allowed to choose, he would have joined them, partly
because it seemed more "manly," and partly that he dreaded a renewal of
the questioning.

But here, Susy, sitting bolt upright on an extemporized high stool,
happily diverted his attention by pointing to the empty chair beside
her.

"Kla'uns," she said suddenly, with her usual clear and appalling
frankness, "they is chickens, and hamanaigs, and hot biksquits, and
lasses, and Mister Peyton says I kin have 'em all."

Clarence, who had begun suddenly to feel that he was responsible for