"Oh, yes," he replied calmly, "a very fine baby
boy."

They began to purr in proud contentment at
this information, and made minute inquiries about
the age and weight and eyes and nose and other
important details of this precious infant. They
inquired more coldly about the child's mother,
of whom they spoke with greater warmth when
they learned that she was dead. They hung
breathless on Warwick's words as he related
briefly the story of his life since he had left, years
before, the house behind the cedars--how with a
stout heart and an abounding hope he had gone
out into a seemingly hostile world, and made
fortune stand and deliver. His story had for the
women the charm of an escape from captivity,
with all the thrill of a pirate's tale. With the
whole world before him, he had remained in the
South, the land of his fathers, where, he
conceived, he had an inalienable birthright. By some
good chance he had escaped military service in
the Confederate army, and, in default of older
and more experienced men, had undertaken, during
the rebellion, the management of a large estate,
which had been left in the hands of women and
slaves. He had filled the place so acceptably, and
employed his leisure to such advantage, that at the
close of the war he found himself--he was modest
enough to think, too, in default of a better