"Be off, and spend your dollar! See what sights you can, for we'll not be in Richmond again for many a day! They say there's a brig in from Barbadoes." He put up his wallet, and with a nod to Gaudylock strode away in the direction of the market, but presently halted and turned his head.
"Lewis!" "Yes, father." "Don't you be buying any more books! You hear me ?" He swung away, and his son stood under the sycamore tree and looked after him with a darkened face.

Gaudylock put a hand upon his shoulder.
"Never mind, Lewis! Before we part I'm going to talk to Gideon." He laughed.

"Do you know what the Cherokees call me?
They call me Golden-Tongue.

Because, you see, I can persuade them to 'most anything,--always into the war-path, and sometimes out of it! Gideon may be obstinate, but he can't be as obstinate as an Indian.

Now let's go to Mocket's." The way to Mocket's lay down a steep hillside, and along the river-bank, under a drift of coloured leaves, and by the sound of falling water.
Mocket dwelt in a small house, in a small green yard with a broken gate.
A red creeper mantled the tiny porch, and lilac bushes, clucked under by a dozen hens, hedged the grassy yard.