Miss Saidie shrunk back, frightened, behind the silver service.

"Of course you know best, brother," she hastened to acknowledge,
with her unfailing good-humour. "I'm as fond of the child as you
are, I reckon--and of Maria, too, for that matter. Have you seen
this photograph she sent me yesterday, taken at some outlandish
place across the water? I declare, I had no idea she was half so
handsome. She has begun to wear her hair low and has filled out
considerable."

"Well, there was room for it," commented Fletcher, as he glanced
indifferently at the picture and laid it down. "Get Will's
clothes packed to-day, remember. He starts off tomorrow morning,
rain or shine."

Pushing back his chair, he paused to gulp a last swallow of
coffee, and then stamped heavily from the room.

At dinner Will did not appear, and when at last the supper bell
jangled in the hall and Fletcher strode in to find the boy's
place still empty, the shadow upon his brow grew positively
black. As they rose from the table there were brisk, light steps
along the hall, and Will entered hurriedly, warm and dusty after
the day's hunt. Catching sight of his grandfather, he started
nervously, and the boyish animation he had brought in from the
fields faded quickly from his face, which took on a sly and
dogged look.

"Whar in the devil's name have you been, suh?" demanded Fletcher