he inquired of the clerk, behind the desk.

"Yes, sir! It's the William Paca (the Signer) mansion, but it served as
the home of Dorothy Manners in _Richard Carvel_, and hence the name,
sir: Carvel Hall. We've many fine houses here: the Chase House--he
also was a Signer; the Harwood House, said to be one of the most
perfect specimens of Colonial architecture in America; the Scott House,
on the Spa; the Brice House, next door; McDowell Hall, older than any
of them, was gutted by fire last year, but has been restored; the Ogle
mansion--he was Governor in the 1740's, I think. Oh! this was the Paris
of America before and during the Revolution. Why, sir, the tonnage of
the Port of Annapolis, in 1770, was greater than the tonnage of the
Port of Baltimore, to-day."

"Very interesting!" said Macloud. "Very interesting, indeed. What's
happened to it since 1770?"

"Nothing, sir--that's the trouble, it's progressed backward--and
Baltimore has taken its place."

"I see!" said Macloud, laughing. "What time is luncheon?"

"It's being served now, sir--twelve-thirty to two."

"Order a pair of saddle horses, and have them around at one-thirty,
please."

"There is no livery connected with the hotel, sir, but I'll do what I
can. There isn't any saddlers for hire, but we will get you a pair of
'Cheney's Best,' sir--they're sometimes ridden. However, you had
better drive, if you will permit me to suggest, sir."

Croyden glanced at Macloud.

"No!--we will try the horses," he said.

It had been determined that they should ride for the reasons, as urged
by Macloud, that they could go on horseback where they could not in a
conveyance, and they would be less likely to occasion comment. The
former of which appealed to Croyden, though the latter did not.

Macloud had borrowed an extra pair of riding breeches and puttees, from
his friend, and, at the time appointed, the two men passed through the
office.

"The horses are waiting, sir!" the clerk informed them.

Two negro lads were holding a pair of rawboned nags, that resembled
saddlers about as much as a cigar-store Indian does a sonata. Croyden
looked them over in undisguised disgust.

"If these are Cheney's Best," he commented, "what in Heaven's name are
his worst?"

"Come on!" said Macloud, adjusting the stirrups. "Get aboard and leave
the kicking to the horses, they may be better than they look. Where
does one cross the Severn?" he asked a man who was passing.

"Straight up