like a spray
of golden-rod in the sunshine," wrote the Major, with his old-fashioned
rhetoric.

"What is it he says, eh?" asked Dan, noting the flush and drawing his
conclusions.

"He says that Aunt Molly and himself will meet us at the White Sulphur next
summer."

"Oh, I don't mean that. What is it he says about the girls; they are real
beauties aren't they? By the way, Champe, why don't you marry one of them
and settle down?"

"Why don't you?" retorted Champe, as Dan got up and called to Big Abel to
bring his riding clothes. "Oh, I'm not a lady's man," he said lightly.
"I've too moody a face for them," and he began to dress himself with the
elaborate care which had won for him the title of "Beau" Montjoy.

By the next summer, Betty and Virginia had shot up as if in a night, but
neither Champe nor Dan came home. After weeks of excited preparation, the
Major and Mrs. Lightfoot started, with Congo and Mitty, for the White
Sulphur, where the boys were awaiting them. As the months went on, vague
rumours reached the Governor's ears--rumours which the Major did not quite
disprove when he came back in the autumn. "Yes, the boy is sowing his wild
oats," he said; "but what can you expect, Governor? Why, he is not yet
twenty, and young blood is hot blood, sir."

"I am sorry to hear that he has been losing at cards," returned the
Governor; "but take my advice, and let him pick himself up when he falls to
hurt. Don't back him up, Major."

"Pooh! pooh!" exclaimed the Major, testily. "You're like Molly, Governor,
and, bless my soul, one old woman is as much as I can manage. Why, she
wants me to let the boy starve."

The Governor sighed, but he did not protest. He liked Dan, with all his
youthful errors, and he wanted to put out a hand to hold him back from
destruction; but he feared to bring the terrible flush to the Major's face.
It was better to leave things alone, he thought, and so sighed and said
nothing.

That was an autumn of burning political conditions, and the excited slavery
debates in the North were reechoing through the Virginia mountains. The
Major, like the old war horse that he was, had already pricked up his ears,
and determined to lend his tongue or his sword, as his state might require.
That a fight could go on in the Union so long as Virginia or himself kept
out of it, seemed to him a possibility little less than preposterous.

"Didn't we fight the Revolution, sir? and didn't we fight the War of 1812?