eerd tell of a Chad Buford who had been killed in the Mexican War
and whose daddy lived 'bout fifteen mile down the river." The Major
found that Buford dead, but an old woman told him his name was Chad,
that he had "fit in the War o' 1812 when he was nothin' but a chunk of
a boy, and that his daddy, whose name, too, was Chad, had been killed
by Injuns some'eres aroun' Cumberland Gap." By this time the Major was
as keen as a hound on the scent, and, in a cabin at the foot of the
sheer gray wall that crumbles into the Gap, he had the amazing luck to
find an octogenarian with an unclouded memory who could recollect a
queer-looking old man who had been killed by Indians--"a ole feller
with the curiosest hair I ever did see," added the patriarch. His name
was Colonel Buford, and the old man knew where he was buried, for he
himself was old enough at the time to help bury him. Greatly excited,
the Major hired mountaineers to dig into the little hill that the old
man pointed out, on which there was, however, no sign of a grave, and,
at last, they uncovered the skeleton of an old gentleman in a wig and
peruke! There was little doubt now that the boy, no matter what the
blot on his 'scutcheon, was of his own flesh and blood, and the Major
was tempted to go back at once for him, but it was a long way, and he
was ill and anxious to get back home. So he took the Wilderness Road
for the Bluegrass, and wrote old Joel the facts and asked him to send
Chad to him whenever he would come. But the boy would not go. There was
no definite reason in his mind. It was a stubborn instinct merely--the
instinct of pride, of stubborn independence--of shame that festered in
his soul like a hornet's sting. Even Melissa urged him. She never tired
of hearing Chad tell about the Bluegrass country, and when she knew
that the Major wanted him to go back, she followed him out in the yard
that night and found him on the fence whittling. A red star was sinking
behind the mountains. "Why won't you go back no more, Chad?" she said.

"'Cause I HAIN'T got no daddy er mammy." Then Melissa startled him.

"Well, I'd go--an' I hain't got no daddy er mammy." Chad stopped his
whittling.

"Whut'd you say, Lissy?" he asked, gravely.

Melissa was frightened--the boy looked so serious.

"Cross yo' heart an' body that you won't NUVER tell NO body." Chad
crossed.

"Well, mammy said I mustn't ever tell nobody--but I HAIN'T got no daddy
er mammy. I heerd her a-tellin'