"Come on with me to Monticello," said the young man.

"Burwell will give us supper, and find us a couple of bottles to boot." "Sir," answered the Frenchman stiffly, but with an inner vision of Monticello cheer, "I would not vote for you--" Rand laughed.

"I bear no malice, Mr.Pincornet.

Opinion's but opinion.
I'll cut no traveller's throat because he likes another road than mine! Come, come! Fish from the river, cakes and coffee, Mr.Pincornet--and afterwards wine on the terrace!" The road climbed on.

Between the stems of the tall trees, feathered with the green of mid-spring, the dogwood displayed its stars, and the fringe tree rose like a fountain.