I believe that in a week's time Nick was as conversant with my life as I
myself. For he made me tell of it again and again, and of Kentucky. And
always as he listened his eyes would glow and his breast heave with
excitement.

"Do you think your father will take you there, David, when he comes for
you?"

I hoped so, but was doubtful.

"I'll run away with you," he declared. "There is no one here who cares
for me save Mr. Mason and Mammy."

And I believe he meant it. He saw but little of his mother, and nearly
always something unpleasant was coupled with his views. Sometimes we ran
across her in the garden paths walking with a gallant,--oftenest Mr.
Riddle. It was a beautiful garden, with hedge-bordered walks and flowers
wondrously massed in color, a high brick wall surrounding it. Frequently
Mrs. Temple and Mr. Riddle would play at cards there of an afternoon, and
when that musical, unbelieving laugh of hers came floating over the wall,
Nick would say:--

"Mamma is winning."

Once we heard high words between the two, and running into the garden
found the cards scattered on the grass, and the couple gone.

Of all Nick's escapades,--and he was continually in and out of them,--I
recall only a few of the more serious. As I have said, he was a wild