of whom such strange tales came.

Mr. Davis lifted his black hat to the shouting crowd, and bowed again
and again. But he did not smile. His face remained throughout set in
the same stern mold. As the troops closed up, he entered the carriage
waiting for him, and drove slowly toward the heart of the city, the
multitude following and breaking at intervals into shouts and cheers.

The Palmetto Guards marched on the right of the carriage, and Harry
was able to watch the President-elect all the time. The face held his
attention. Its sternness did not relax. It was the face of a man who
had seen the world, and who believed in the rule of strength.

The procession led on to a hotel, a large building with a great portico
in front. Here it stopped, the bands ceased to play, Mr. Davis
descended from the carriage and entered the portico, where a group of
men famous in the South stood, ready to welcome him. The troops drew up
close to the portico, and back of them, every open space was black with
people.

Harry, in the very front rank, saw and heard it all. Mr. Davis stopped
as soon as he reached the portico, and Yancey, the famous orator of
Alabama, to whom Harry had delivered his letters in Charleston, stepped
forward, and, in behalf of the people of the South, made a speech of
welcome in a clear, resonant, and emphatic tone. The applause compelled
him to stop at times, but throughout, Mr. Davis stood rigid and
unsmiling. His countenance expressed none of his thoughts, whatever
they may have been. Harry's eyes never wandered from his face, except
to glance now and then at the weazened, shrunken, little man who stood
near him, Alexander H. Stephens of Georgia, who would take the oath of