sort o' round out her education and character in a way that--it's no use
denying it, though it would never do for me to say so--a way that's just
impossible in Dixie, sir."

The young man remembered Barbara's mother and was silent.

"Well, Barb, Mr. Fair will go home with us for a day or two, anyhow,"
Garnet was presently authorized to say. "I must go into the next car a
moment----"

John March, meditating on this very speaker with growing anger, saw him
approach. Garnet entered, beaming.

"Howdy, John, my son; I couldn't let you and Sister March----"

March had stepped before his mother: He spoke in a deep murmur.

"I'm not your son, sir. My mother's not your sister."

"Why, what in thun--why, John, I don't know whether to be angry or to
laugh."

"Don't you dare to do either. Go back to that other man's----"

"Speak more softly for heaven's sake, Mr. March, and don't look so, or
you'll do me a wrong that may cost us both our lives!"

"Cheap enough," said the youth, with a smile.

"You've made a ridiculous mistake, John. Before God I'm as innocent of
any----"

"Before God, Major Garnet, you lie. If you deny it again I'll accuse you
publicly. Go back and fondle the hand of that other man's wife; but
don't ever speak to my mother again. If you do, I--I'll shoot you on
sight."

"I'll call you to account for this, sir," said Garnet, moving to go.

"You're lying again," was John's bland reply, and he turned to his seat.

"Why, John," came the mother's sweet complaint, "I wanted to see Brother
Garnet."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the complaisant son.

Garnet paused on the coach's platform to get rid of his tremors. "He'll
not tell," he said aloud, the uproar of wheels drowning his voice. "He's
too good a Rosemonter to tattle. At first I thought he'd got on the same
scent as Cornelius.

"Thank God, that's one thing there's no woman in, anyhow. O me, O me! If
that tipsy nigger would only fall off this train and break his neck!

"And now here's _this_ calf to live in daily dread of. O dear, O _dear_,
I ought to a-had more sense. It's all her fault; she's pure brass. They
call youth the time of temptation--Good Lord! Why youth's armored from
head to heel in its invincible ignorance. O me! Well--I'll pay him for
it if it takes me ten years."

John's complacency had faded with the white heat of his anger, and he
sat chafing in spirit while his elbow neighbor slept in the shape of an
N. Across the car he heard