There was a madcap zest in his speech, something so merry and wild, that Grey, who had fallen back into his Tidewater manners, became once more the careless boy.

We stopped to eat in a glade by a slow stream, and from his saddle-bags Ringan brought out strange delicacies.

There were sugared fruits from the Main, and orange sirop from Jamaica, and a kind of sweet punch made by the Hispaniola Indians.

As we ate and drank he would gossip about the ways of the world; and though he never mentioned his own doings, there was such an air of mastery about him as made him seem the centre figure of his tales, I could see that Grey was mightily captivated, and all afternoon he plied him with questions, and laughed joyously at his answers.

As we camped that night, while Grey was minding his horse Ringan spoke of him to me.
"I like the lad, Andrew.