its
uselessness, it faded into the former expression.

What the man's story was, the colonel did not know, nor what were his
deserts. But the events of the day had furnished food for reflection.
Evidently Clarendon needed new light and leading. Men, even black men,
with something to live for, and with work at living wages, would
scarcely prefer an enforced servitude in ropes and chains. And the
punishment had scarcely seemed to fit the crime. He had observed no
great zeal for work among the white people since he came to town; such
work as he had seen done was mostly performed by Negroes. If idleness
were a crime, the Negroes surely had no monopoly of it.

_Nine_

Furnished with money for his keep, Peter was ordered if again molested
to say that he was in the colonel's service. The latter, since his own
plans were for the present uncertain, had no very clear idea of what
disposition he would ultimately make of the old man, but he meant to
provide in some way for his declining years. He also bought Peter a
neat suit of clothes at a clothing store, and directed him to present
himself at the hotel on the following morning. The interval would give
the colonel time to find something for Peter to do, so that he would
be able to pay him a wage. To his contract with the county he attached
little importance; he had already intended, since their meeting in the
cemetery, to provide for Peter in some way, and the legal
responsibility was no additional burden. To Peter himself, to whose
homeless old age food was more than philosophy, the arrangement seemed
entirely satisfactory.

Colonel French's presence in Clarendon had speedily become known to
the public. Upon his return to the hotel, after leaving Peter to his
own devices for the day, he found several cards in his letter box,
left by gentlemen who had called, during his absence, to see him.

The daily mail had also come in, and the colonel sat down in the
office to read it. There was a club notice, and several letters that
had been readdressed and forwarded, and a long one from Kirby in
reference to some detail of the recent transfer. Before he had
finished reading these, a gentleman came up and introduced himself. He
proved to be one John McLean, an old schoolmate of the colonel, and
later a comrade-in-arms, though the colonel would never have
recognised a rather natty major in his own regiment in this shabby
middle-aged man, whose shoes were run down at the heel,