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"Yet what?" I snapped out, with horse eyes.

I dilated. "Who told--did Ned Ferry tell you that story?"

I laughed a gay disdain. "Who is Lucius; is he Charlotte's husband?"

Our intercourse became more amiable and the fellow dragged in his advice that I spend the rest of the night at the house of Mr. Oliver. His acquaintance with that gentleman seemed to grow while we talked, and broke into bloom like a magician's rosebush. He described him as a kind old bird who made hospitality to strangers his meat and drink. A conjecture darted into my mind. "Why, yes! that is his married son, is he not, yonder in the cabin; the one with the fair hair?"

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