o a typographical error. The
truth is, however, that when a cornfield chronicler finds himself
entangled in a rush of events, even if they are minor ones, he feels
compelled to resort to that pattern of the "P. S." which is so
comforting to the lady writers, and so captivating to their readers.

Mr. Sanders is supposed to be on his way to Savannah on the same train
with Cephas and Captain Falconer, supposing the train to be on time.
Nevertheless, it is necessary to give a further account of his movements
before he started on the journey that was to prove to be such an
important event in Gabriel's career.

On the third morning after the arrest of the young men, Mrs. Lumsden
expressed a desire to see Mr. Sanders, but he was nowhere to be found.
Many sympathetic persons, including Nan Dorrington, joined in the
search, but it proved to be a fruitless one. As a matter of fact, Mr.
Sanders had gone to bed early the night before, but a little after
midnight he awoke with a start. This was such an unusual experience that
he permitted it to worry him. He had had no dream, he had heard no
noise; yet he had suddenly come out of a sound and refreshing sleep with
every faculty alert. He struck a match, and looked at his watch. It was
a quarter to one.

"I wish, plague take 'em!" he said with a snort, "that somebody would
whirl in an' make a match that wouldn't smifflicate the whole house an'
lot."

He lit the candle, and then proceeded to draw on his clothes. In the
course of this proceeding, he lay back on the bed with his hands under
his head. He lay thus for some minutes, and then suddenly jumped to his
feet with an exclamation. He put on his clothes in a hurry, and went out
to the stables, where he gave his horse a good feed--seventeen ears of
corn and two bundles of fodder.

Then he returned to the house, and rummaged around until he found a
pitcher of buttermilk and a pone of corn-bread, which he disposed of
deliberately, and with great relish. This done, he changed his clothes,
substituting for those he wore every day the suit he wore on Sundays and
holidays. When all these preparations were complete, the hands of his
watch stood at quarter past three. He had delayed and dillydallied in
order to give his horse time to eat. The animal had taken advantage of
the opportunity, for when Mr. Sanders went to the stables, the Racking
Roan was playfully tossing the bare cobs about in the trough with his
flexible upper lip.

"B