a gentleman, and the descendant of a long line
of gentlemen. But he had lived too many years among those who judged
the tree by its fruit, to think that blood alone entitled him to any
special privileges. The consciousness of honourable ancestry might
make one clean of life, gentle of manner, and just in one's dealings.
In so far as it did this it was something to be cherished, but
scarcely to be boasted of, for democracy is impatient of any
excellence not born of personal effort, of any pride save that of
achievement. He was glad that Fetters had got on in the world. It
justified a fine faith in humanity, that wealth and power should have
been attained by the poor white lad, over whom, with a boy's
unconscious brutality, he had tyrannised in his childhood. He could
have wished for Bill a better taste in monuments, and better luck in
sons, if rumour was correct about Fetters's boy. But, these, perhaps,
were points where blood _did_ tell. There was something in blood,
after all, Nature might make a great man from any sort of material:
hence the virtue of democracy, for the world needs great men, and
suffers from their lack, and welcomes them from any source. But fine
types were a matter of breeding and were perhaps worth the trouble of
preserving, if their existence were compatible with the larger good.
He wondered if Bill ever recalled that progress down Main Street in
which he had played so conspicuous a part, or still bore any
resentment toward the other participants?

"Could your mother see me," he asked, as they reached the gate, "if I
went by the house?"

"She would be glad to see you. Mother lives in the past, and you would
come to her as part of it. She often speaks of you. It is only a short
distance. You have not forgotten the way?"

They turned to the right, in a direction opposite to that from which
the colonel had reached the cemetery. After a few minutes' walk, in
the course of which they crossed another bridge over the same winding
creek, they mounted the slope beyond, opened a gate, climbed a short
flight of stone steps and found themselves in an enchanted garden,
where lilac bush and jessamine vine reared their heads high, tulip and
daffodil pushed their way upward, but were all dominated by the
intenser fragrance of the violets.

Old Peter had followed the party at a respectful distance, but, seeing
himself forgotten, he walked past the gate, after they had entered it,
and went, somewhat disconsola