hrough the meadow. He passed a field where negroes were
transplanting tobacco, and his mind noted the height and nature of the
leaf. At the Greenwood road he looked mechanically toward the distant
house, but upon this morning he hardly thought of Cary. He thought of
Gideon Rand, and of the great casks of tobacco which he and his father
used to roll; of the old, strong horses, and of a lean and surly dog
that they had owned; of the slow journeys, and of their fires at night,
beneath the gum and the pine, beside wastes of broom sedge.

He came into Charlottesville and rode down Main Street to the Eagle,
where he dismounted. A negro took his horse. "Put him up," directed
Rand, "until he is called for." He kept his hand for a moment upon
Selim's neck, then turned and walked down the street and into the Court
House yard.

The shady place had always a contingent of happy idlers, men and boys
lounging under the trees or upon the Court House steps. These greeted
Lewis Rand with deference, and turned from their bountiful lack of
occupation to watch him cross the grass and enter the Court House. "He's
gone," remarked one, "straight to the sheriff's office. What's his
business there?"

The next day and the next the idlers in the Court House yard knew all
the business, and rolled it under their tongues. They loved a tragedy,
and this curtain had gone up with promise. Had they not seen Lewis Rand
walk into the yard--had they not spoken to him and he to them--had they
not watched him enter the Court House? The boy who minded the sheriff's
door found himself a hero, and the words treasured that fell from his
tongue. It was true that he had been sent away and so had heard but
little, but the increasing crowd found that little of interest. "Yes,
sir, that's what he said, and just as quiet as you are! 'Is the sheriff
in, Michael?' he asked. 'Tell him, please, that I want to see him.'
That's what he said, and Mr. Garrett he calls out, 'Come in, Mr. Rand,
come in!'"

Other voices claimed attention. "And when they dragged Indian Run
yesterday, there was the pistol at the bottom of a pool--his name upon
it, just as he told them it would be--"

"Fairfax Cary was in the court room yesterday when he was committed. He
and Lewis Rand spoke to each other, but no one heard what they said."

The boy came to the front again. "I didn't hear much that morning before
Mr. Garrett sent me away, but I heard why he gave himself up. I thought
it wasn'