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By and by we breakfasted. After which, my precious horse not having finished his corn, I spread my blanket and let myself doze, but was soon awakened by the shouts of my companions laughing at me for laughing so piteously in my sleep.

"Don't you like him?"

My thanks were few and awkward, for there still hung to the missive a basting thread, and it was as warm as a nestling bird. I bent low--everybody was emotional in those days--kissed the fragrant thing, thrust it into my bosom, and blushed worse than Camille.

"Cockerel, did you say?"

"No," he said, "my last name is Durand." He gave it the French pronunciation.

"That will do. Now, beyond Fayette, about seven miles north, there's a place--"

"Oh!--don't you wish you knew! Why, to myself, for instance. Come! duty calls."

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