f approaching steps.

XIII

CRABBED AGE AND CALLOW YOUTH

With the morning came trustier tidings. The slaves had taken no part in the
attack, the weapons had dropped from the few dark hands into which they had
been given, and while the shots that might bring them freedom yet rang at
Harper's Ferry, the negroes themselves went with cheerful faces to their
work, or looked up, singing, from their labours in the field. In the green
valley, set amid blue mountains, they moved quietly back and forth, raking
the wind-drifts of fallen leaves, or ploughing the rich earth for the
autumn sowing of the grain.

As the Governor was sitting down to breakfast, the Lightfoot coach rolled
up to the portico, and the Major stepped down to deliver himself of his
garnered news. He was in no pleasant humour, for he had met Dan face to
face that morning as he passed the tavern, and as if this were not
sufficient to try the patience of an irascible old gentleman, a spasm of
gout had seized him as he made ready to descend.

But at the sight of Mrs. Ambler, he trod valiantly upon his gouty toe, and
screwed his features into his blandest smile--an effort which drew so
heavily upon the source of his good-nature, that he arrived at Chericoke an
hour later in what was known to Betty as "a purple rage."

"You know I have always warned you, Molly," was his first offensive thrust
as he entered Mrs. Lightfoot's chamber, "that your taste for trash would be
the ruin of the family. It has ruined your daughter, and now it is ruining
your grandson. Well, well, you can't say that it is for lack of warning."

From the centre of her tester bed, the old lady calmly regarded him. "I
told you to bring back the boy, Mr. Lightfoot," she returned. "You surely
saw him in town, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes, I saw him," replied the Major, loosening his high black stock.
"But where do you suppose I saw him, ma'am? and how? Why, the young
scapegrace has actually gone and hired himself out as a stagedriver--a
common stagedriver. And, bless my soul, he had the audacity to tip his hat
to me from the box--from the box with the reins in his hand, ma'am!"

"What stage, Mr. Lightfoot?" inquired his wife, with an eye for
particulars.

"Oh, I wash my hands of him," pursued the Major, waving her question aside.
"I wash my hands of him, and that's the end of it. In my day, the young
were supposed to show some respect for their elders, and every calf wasn't
of the opinion