s startled for a moment, then almost instantly she came in touch
with the vein and mood and mind of the other and laughed.

"I came with Miss Pinckney," said she.

"You're not from Charleston?"

"Yes, indeed I am."

"But where do you live in Charleston? I've never seen you and I know
every--besides you don't look as if you belonged to Charleston--I don't
believe you've come from there."

"Then where do you think I've come from?"

"I don't know," said Silas laughing, "but it doesn't matter as long as
you're here, does it? 'Scuse my fooling, won't you--I wouldn't with a
stranger, but you don't seem a stranger somehow--though I don't know your
name."

"Phylice Berknowles," said Phyl, glancing up at him and half wondering how
it was that, despite his good looks, his manhood, and their total
unacquaintanceship, she felt as little constrained in his presence as
though he were a boy.

"And my name is Silas Grangerson. Say, is Maria Pinckney in the house with
father?"

"She is."

"Talking over old times, I s'pose?" said Silas.

"Yes!"

"I can hear them. It's always the same when they get together--and I
suppose you got sick of it and came out?"

"No, they put me out--asked me wouldn't I like to look at the garden."

Already she had banded herself with him in mild opposition to the elders.

"Great--Jerusalem. They're just like a pair of old horses wanting to be
left quiet and rub their nose-bags together. Look at the garden! I can
hear them--come on and look at the horses."

He led the way to a loose box and opened the upper door.

"That's Flying Fox, she's mine, the fastest trotter in the Carolinas--you
know anything about horses?"

"Rather!"

"I thought you did, somehow. Mind! she doesn't take to strangers. Mind!
she bites like an alligator."

"Not me," said Phyl, fondling the lovely but fleering-eyed head protruding
above the lower door.

"So she doesn't," said Silas admiringly, "she's taken to you--well, I
don't blame her. Here's John Barleycorn," opening another door, "own
brother to the Fox, he's Pap's; he's a bolter, and kicks like a duck gun.
She's got all her vice at one end of her and he at the other, match pair."
He whistled between his teeth as he put up the bars, then he shewed other
horses, Phyl watching his every movement, and wondering what it was that
gave pleasure to her in watching. Silas moved, or seemed to move,
absolutely without effort, and his slim brown hands touched everythin