Walter as
possible. And a sudden leap it was from the most modern of games to a
game most ancient.

No knights of old ever jousted on a lovelier field than the green little
valley toward which the Hon. Sam waved one big hand. It was level,
shorn of weeds, elliptical in shape, and bound in by trees that ran in
a semicircle around the bank of the river, shut in the southern border,
and ran back to the northern extremity in a primeval little forest that
wood-thrushes, even then, were making musical--all of it shut in by
a wall of living green, save for one narrow space through which the
knights were to enter. In front waved Wallens' leafy ridge and behind
rose the Cumberland Range shouldering itself spur by spur, into the
coming sunset and crashing eastward into the mighty bulk of Powell's
Mountain, which loomed southward from the head of the valley--all
nodding sunny plumes of chestnut.

The Hon. Sam had seen us coming from afar apparently, had come forward
to meet us, and he was in high spirits.

"I am Prince John and Waldemar and all the rest of 'em this day," he
said, "and 'it is thus,'" quoting Sir Walter, "that we set the dutiful
example of loyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, and are ourselves
her guide to the throne which she must this day occupy." And so saying,
the Hon. Sam marshalled the Blight to a seat of honor next his own.

"And how do you know she is going to be the Queen of Love and Beauty?"
asked the little sister. The Hon. Sam winked at me.

"Well, this tournament lies between two gallant knights. One will make
her the Queen of his own accord, if he wins, and if the other wins, he's
got to, or I'll break his head. I've given orders." And the Hon. Sam
looked about right and left on the people who were his that day.

"Observe the nobles and ladies," he said, still following Sir Walter,
and waving at the towns-people and visitors in the rude grandstand.
"Observe the yeomanry and spectators of a better degree than the mere
vulgar"--waving at the crowd on either side of the stand--"and the
promiscuous multitude down the river banks and over the woods and
clinging to the tree-tops and to yon telegraph-pole. And there is my
herald"--pointing to the cornetist of the local band--"and wait--by my
halidom--please just wait until you see my knight on that black charger
o' mine."

The Blight and the little sister were convulsed and the Hon. Sam went
on:

"Look at my men-at-arms"--the volunteer policemen