istant white sail, sun touched, which
lessened far out across the bay, which presently became a point of light
and was then hidden in the haze of the horizon. That was the way of
dreams surely, the road which led to the realization of hope. That ship
might go on and on through sunlight and storm, through mist and clear
weather, and some time, how long a time the boy did not know, it would
reach another land, France perchance, surely the best of all lands,
since it bred such men as the Marquis de Lafayette.

"Dreaming, Richard?"

The grass had deadened the sound of approaching footsteps and the boy
rose hastily. His face flushed as he recognized his visitor.

He was a thin man, still young, with an earnest face which at once
arrested attention. It was far more that of a visionary than was the
boy's, a difficult countenance to read and understand. If, for a moment,
the neatness and precision of his dress suggested a man of idle leisure,
a courtier and little more, there quickly followed a conviction that
such an estimate of his character was a wrong one. Dreamer he might be,
in a sense, but he was also a man of action. The spare frame was full of
energy, there was determination in the face. This was a man who knew
nothing of fear, whom danger would only bring stronger courage; a man
who would press forward to his goal undaunted by whatever difficulties
stood in the way. He was an idealist rather than a dreamer, one who had
set up a standard in his life and, right or wrong, would live his life
true to that standard. He was a man to trust, even though he might not
inspire love, a leader for a forlorn hope, a personality which brought
confidence to all who came in touch with it. His eyes, kindly but
penetrating, were fixed upon the lad to whom he was a hero. He was the
famous Marquis de Lafayette.

"Yes, sir, I was--I was thinking."

"Great thoughts, I warrant, for so young a mind. Let us sit down. This
is a famous seat of yours, a good place to dream in with as fair a slice
of the world's beauty to gaze upon as could well be found. Come, tell me
your dreams."

The boy sat down beside him, but remained silent.

"Shall I help you?" said the Marquis. "Ah, my lad, I know that it is
difficult to tell one's dreams, they are often such sacred things; but
your good mother has been telling me something about you. We are of the
same blood, she and I, so we talk easily and tell each other secrets, as
two members of a large fam