brose distinctly heard the three ladies breathing in unison the name
of "Peachy" as he passed them by.

Two hours later, well away from Pennyroyal, having turned off the high
road to a less frequented lane, the traveller brought old Liza to her
first halt. Then, drawing out a large red handkerchief, he wiped his
moist brow and, removing his collar, gazed furtively about him.

The glory of his early morning face had departed; he looked older and
almost haggard.

"Ain't it awful, human curiosity!" he murmured. "Reckon I was most too
brave in tryin' to make things worse, and yet I never dreamed folks
would think I was runnin' after Peachy Williams this trip. She----"

Lower and lower Ambrose seemed to be gradually settling down into his
gig, although finding some trouble in disposing of so great a length of
leg.

Finally he sighed: "Kind of wish I had brought old Moses along fer
comp'ny." For the boy was feeling that need for companionship that comes
after all mental strain. "But then Moses ain't like dogs; he's so
bothersome he's most human--always either wantin' you to do something
fer him or to set up and take notice of what he is doin'."

Relapsing into silence after this, which was soon followed by a more
usual and serene state of mind, the young man shortly after took out
from his duster pocket a withered russet apple left over from the winter
store, and thoughtfully sunk his teeth in it. Then gradually his
tranquillity deepened, increased by the recollection of his having just
passed through the fire of the enemy and escaped. Behind him lay the
village of Pennyroyal, suspicious yet still unsatisfied, and before him
the open, empty, springtime road. At will Liza was cropping wayside
grass: the traveller's hands had let slip the reins, and sometimes his
eyes wandered to the far-off blue horizon and sometimes dwelt on the
closer beauty of the roadsides, where elderberry, sumach and Virginia
creeper were tangled in thick hedges, and where young grapevines hung
like silver-green garlands under their fine coating of May dust.

In a Kentucky landscape, to those who comprehend it, there is ever a
sense of generous growth, of nature's yielding herself gladly to life's
eternal purpose. Now dimly this country boy began to understand the
motive in the new beauties and new fragrances of each returning spring.

Again the eagerness of the dawn overtook him; and stiffening, he picked
up his reins, starting off again, when,