CHAPTER III.
THE ART OF THE ORIENT "Come," said Orme to me, "let us go into the shade, for I find your Virginia morning warm." We stepped over to the gallery of the little tavern, where the shade was deep and the chairs were wide and the honeysuckles sweet.

I threw myself rather discontentedly into a chair.

Orme seated himself quietly in another, his slender legs crossed easily, his hands meeting above his elbows supported on the chair rails, as he gazed somewhat meditatively at his finger tips.
"So you did not hear my little effort the other night ?" he remarked, smiling.
"I was not so fortunate as to hear you speak.

But I will only say I will back you against any minister of the gospel I ever knew when it comes to riding horses." "Oh, well," he deprecated, "I'm just passing through on my way to Albemarle County across the mountains.

You couldn't blame me for wanting something to do--speaking or riding, or what not.