smile; then he turned to the others.
"Major, the boy is a Lightfoot!" he exclaimed.

"Ah, so I said, so I said!" cried the Major, clapping his hand on Dan's
head in a racial benediction. "'I'd know you were a Lightfoot if I met you
in the road' was what I said the first evening."

"And a Virginian," added Mr. Blake, folding his hands on his stomach and
smiling upon the group. "My daughter in New York wrote to me last week for
advice about the education of her son. 'Shall I send him to the school of
learning at Cambridge, papa?' she asked; and I answered, 'Send him there,
if you will, but, when he has finished with his books, by all means let him
come to Virginia--the school for gentlemen.'"

"The school for gentlemen!" cried the doctor, delightedly. "It is a prouder
title than the 'Mother of Presidents.'"

"And as honourably earned," added the rector. "If you want polish, come to
Virginia; if you want chivalry, come to Virginia. When I see these two
things combined, I say to myself, 'The blood of the Mother of Presidents is
here.'"

"You are right, sir, you are right!" cried the Major, shaking back his
hair, as he did when he was about to begin the lines from _The Campaign_.
"Nothing gives so fine a finish to a man as a few years spent with the
influences that moulded Washington. Why, some foreigners are perfected by
them, sir. When I met General Lafayette in Richmond upon his second visit,
I remember being agreeably impressed with his dignity and ease, which, I
have no doubt, sir, he acquired by his association, in early years, with
the Virginia gentlemen."

The Governor looked at them with a twinkle in his eye. He was aware of the
humorous traits of his friends, but, in the peculiar sweetness of his
temper, he loved them not the less because he laughed at them--perhaps the
more. In the rector's fat body and the Major's lean one, he knew that there
beat hearts as chivalrous as their words. He had seen the Major doff his
hat to a beggar in the road, and the rector ride forty miles in a snowstorm
to read a prayer at the burial of a slave. So he said with a pleasant
laugh, "We are surely the best judges, my dear sirs," and then, as Mrs.
Lightfoot rustled in, they rose and fell back until she had taken her seat,
and found her knitting.

"I am so sorry not to see Mrs. Blake," she said to the rector. "I have a
new recipe for yellow pickle which I must write out and send to her." And,
as the Governor rose to go, she st