Lewis Rand

e broken gate, and a young woman in a linsey gown rose from the porch step and came down the narrow path toward him. She

d Rand. "Vinie, why do

," said Vinie. "Tom

t call me 'thir'! V

phlox and wiped her hands on the skirt of her linse

I'll go see the little old hou

rked Vinie soberly. "H

k. Don't you r

ey, Lewis!" grinned the scamp; and Gaudylock cried, "Why, if here isn't th

hir," sa

nd with earnestness laying down the law of the case. They talked for ten minutes, and then Rand gathered up the reins, asked

the shadow of the trees by the creek hid them from sight. "Just wait long enoug

Vinie. "Not as grea

esident's road always. He'll have a road all his own." The scamp's imagination, not usually lively, bestirred itself under the influence of the day, of wine, and the still

t's getting dark. Tom, aren't we ever going to have tha

ek, and took the Monticello road. A red light yet burned in the west, but the trees were dark along the

some one out of the old life. Mocket's out of the old life too, he and

u," Adam said placidly. "No

am often there on errands for Mr. Jefferson.

o New Orleans. The city's like a hive before swarming. There are more boats at its wha

have striven with all your might to do, does it at once seem to you a small thing to have done? It do

his time he won doubloons. 'We'll double these,' says he, and so they did, and he won. 'This is a small matter,' he said. We'll play for double-eagles,' and so they did, and he won. 'Haven't you a tract of sugar-canes?' says he. 'Money's naugh

o standing still in this world or the next. Where wer

n the Ohio. And that's a pleasant

ste

d it some moments back. Some one i

of a moon just rising in the east. Upon a log, beneath the tree, appeared the dim brocade and the curled wig of M. Achille Pincornet, resting in the twilight and solacing his soul with the air of "Madelon F

id Rand. "Why are you on the Monticello ro

voice. As he spoke, he restored his fiddle to its case with great care, t

even as dancing master, even as a man no longer young. Mr. Pincornet looked, in the twilight, very pinched, very grey, very hung

, but with an inner vision of Montice

o traveller's throat because he likes another road than mine! Come, come! Fish fr

planed by the hand of man into a fair plateau, the moon was shining brightly. In the silver light, across the dim lawns, classically simple, grave, and fair, rose the house that Jefferson had built. The gate clanged behind the party from Charlottesville, a dog barked, a light flared, voices of negroes were heard, and hurrying

net! Well, Mr. Rand, you spoiled the Egyptians this day! I never saw a finer election! Me and Mr. Fagg were talking of you. 'His father was a fighter before him,' says

dam, and so is Mr. Pincornet! You'll take supper with us, I h

to them Federalists! They're a lot! And that Fairfax Cary-he's a chip of the old block, he surely is! He'd have gone through fire to-day to see his brother win. This way, gentlemen! Sally'll have supper ready in a jiffy. I smell the coffee now. Well, well, M

queer as that, Mr. Bacon. I

hat?" as

ll as one who was at home there. "I'll go bathe my face and hand

ead of the board, seating himself before the other and older men. In the wave of his hand toward the three remaining places there was a condescension not the less remarkable that it was entirely unconscious. The life within him was moving with great rapidity. It was becoming increasingly natural for him to act, simply, without thought, as his inner man bade. What yesterday was uneas

d that it was before a window. The overseer, a worthy, plain man, had a thought of old Gideon Rand, but, remembering in time Mr. Jefferson's high opinion of the man now occupying his chair, sat down and unfolded his damask napkin with great care. Mr. Pincornet, indeed, raised his eyeb

l with as little ceremony as he had used in beginning it. "I shall go write to Mr. Jef

e moonlight streamed in upon them through the open ha

iss me, flo

de

oices, 'war

de

Mr. Bacon? I'd like to

answered the overseer. "There's sickness t

master, hesitating somewhat disconsolately in the hall, at last went also into the moonlight, where he walked slowly up and down upon the terrace, his thin, beruffled hands clasped behind his old br

ted. The mighty tide of our people has topped the mountains and is descending into those plains of the Mississippi made ours by your prophetic vision and your seizure of occasion. The First Consul is a madman! He has sold to us an Empire! Empire! Emperor-Emperor of the West! The sound is stately. You laugh. We are citizens of a republic. Well! I am content. I aspire no higher. I am not Buonaparte. Your lilies are budding beneath the windows; the sweet williams are all in bloom. I have little news for you of town or country-Mrs. Randolph, doubtless, sends you all. Work goes on upon the church. For me, I worship in the fields with the other beasts of burden or of prey. The wheat looks well, and there will be this year a great yield of apples. Major Churchill's Mustapha won at Winchester. Colonel Churchill has cleared a large tract of woods behind Fontenoy and will use it for tobacco. I rode by his plant bed the other day, and the leaf is prime. I am a judge of tobacco. They are bitter, the Fontenoy men. Mr. Ludwell Cary will, I suppose, remain in the county. He is altering and refurnishing Greenwood. I suppose that he will marry. The rains have been frequent this spring, the roads he

he analysis was keen, the reasoning just, the judgment final, the advice sound. The years since that determinative hour

oo, for Mr. Pincornet was playing the violin. The young man extinguished the candles, and stepped into the silvery world without the room. Adam Gaudylock had disappeared, and the overseer was gone to bed. Lights were out in the quarters; the house was as still and white as a man

aster. "Before he hurt his hand Mr. Jefferson played the violin beautifully," he said. "When I was younger,

d Mr. Pincornet. "I learn

rp," announced

ashion became vivacious. "Ah, a rounded arm, a white hand, the rise and fall of a bosom behi

-a pale earth-star shining from grey hill or vale. Rand looked toward Fontenoy, and he looked wistfully. Behind him the violin was telling of the springtime;

ison de m

urs du p

of the locust trees and crossed the moonlit lawn below the terrace. "I've shot that nig

on frame felt no fatigue and his mood was one of sombre exaltation. What was the use of going to bed, of wasting t

he forgot his English, and he now swore volubly in French; then, recovering himself, stepped back a pace, and regarded with high dudgeon his host of the night. "Sir,"

rgot that you could not be a Republic

ncing master, not without a faded scor

ly. The airs the angels sing, and the thundering march of the damned through hell-why should I not listen to them both? I don't believe in

acious things that-that make a man liked. If I were a Federalist, and if I didn't know so much about tobacco, I would go, Mr. Pincornet, to your dancing class at Fontenoy!" He laughed again. "I can't do that, can I? The

offended, but he was not unmagnanimous, and he had a high sense of the importance of his art. He had seen in France what came of uncultivated law-givers. If

reel or Congo," said Rand simply.

ng until it shone, gave back the heart-shaped flames. The slight furniture they pushed aside. The da

aginary lady. Mr. Pincornet issued directions in the tone of a general ordering a charge, his pupil obeyed implicitly. In the silent house, raised high on a mountain-top above a sleeping world, in the lit room with many open windows, through which poured the fragrance of spring, they practised until midnight the minuet de la cour. The hour struck; they gravely ceased to dance, and after five minutes spent in mutual compliments, closed the long windows and put out the superfluous lights, then said good-night, and, bedroom candle in hand, repaired each to

ater smarted in his eyes, and he stretched out his arms. "Oh, pardon, love!" he whispered, "I love but you-and I'll love you to the end!" His fancy dwelt on Fontenoy. It was for