through the fragrant silence of the pine woods. His probable
part in the young life chance had placed in his keeping was a
glorious thing to the man. He had not cared to speculate on the
future; he had believed that friends or kindred must sooner or
later claim Hannibal, but now he felt wonderfully secure in
Crenshaw's opinion that this was not to be.

Just beyond the Barony, which was midway between Balaam's and the
Hill, down the long stretch of sandy road he saw two mounted
figures, then as they drew nearer he caught the flutter of skirts
and recognized one of the horsewomen. It was Mrs. Ferris, wife
of the Barony's new owner. She reined in her horse abreast of
his cart.

"Aren't you Mr. Yancy?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am, that's me--Bob Yancy." He regarded her with large
gray eyes that were frankly approving in their expression, for
she was more than commonly agreeable to look upon.

"I am Mrs. Ferris, and I am very pleased to make your
acquaintance."

"The same here," murmured Yancy with winning civility.

Mrs. Ferris' companion leaned forward, her face averted, and
stroked her horse's neck with gloved hand.

"This is my friend, Miss Betty Malroy."