HOAG led the way through the gate and up the walk toward the house.

“Do you think you'll be likely to settle down here again?” he inquired.

“Oh, I shall now—I shall now,” Paul returned, eagerly. “I've been so homesick for these old mountains and valleys that I shall never want to leave them. It is that way with most men; they never find any spot so attractive as the place where they were brought up.”

“The reason I asked,” Hoag said, with a touch of pride, “was this. I've increased my interests here a powerful sight since you went away. I've added on two more good-sized farms. My tannery is double what it was, an' my flour-mill's a new one with the patent-roller process. Then I run a brickyard t'other side o' town, and a shingle-mill and a little spoke an' hub factory. I tell you this so you'll understand the situation. I'm gittin' too stiff an' heavy to ride about much, an' I've got to have a general superintendent. The fellow that was with me for the last four years left me high an' dry a week ago, after a row me an' him had over a trifle, when you come to think about it. It just struck me that you might want to think it over an' see how you'd like the job.”

“I should like it, I am sure,” Paul said, gratefully.

“I am going to stay here, and I'll have to keep busy.”

“Well, we'll talk it over to-morrow,” Hoag said, in quite a tone of satisfaction. “I reckon we'll agree on the price. If you are as hard a worker as you used to be I'll be more 'an pleased.”

They were now at the veranda steps. The front door was locked; Hoag opened it with a key which was fastened to his suspenders by a steel chain, and the two went into the unlighted hall. The owner of the house fumbled about in the dark until he found a couple of candles on a table, and, scratching a match on his thigh, he lighted them.

“Now we are all hunky-dory,” he chuckled. “I'm goin' to give you a good room, an' if I don't live on the fat of the land as to grub nobody else does. If we come to terms, I'll want you to stay right here, whar I can consult you at a moment's notice.”

“That would be nice indeed,” Paul returned, as he followed his host up the uncarpeted stairs to a hall, which was the counterpart of the one below.

At the front end of the hall Hoag pushed a door open and entering a large bedroom, put one of the candles on the mantelpiece. “Here you are,” he said, pleasantly, waving his heavy hand over the furniture, which consisted of a table, a couple of chairs, a bureau, wardrobe, and a fully equipped wash-stand. “You 'll have to admit”—Hoag smiled at this—“that it is better than the place you was headed for. The last time I peeped in that jail thar wasn't any beds that I could see—niggers an' tramps was lyin' on iron bars with nothin' under 'em but scraps o' blankets.”

Just then there was the sound of a creaking bed in the room adjoining.

Hoag put his own candle down on the table. “It's Henry,” he explained. “He's been poutin' all day. Me'n him had some hot words at supper. He wants me to furnish some money for him to go in business on. Him an' another man want to start a produce store in Grayson, but I won't put hard cash in inexperienced hands. It would be the same as stickin' it in a burnin' brush-heap. He's quit drinkin' an' gamblin', but he won't work.”

“I've seen young men like him,” Paul said. “Henry wasn't brought up to work, and he may be helpless. He ought to be encouraged.”

“Well, I'll not encourage him by puttin' a lot o' cash in his clutches,” Hoag sniffed. “If he'd set in an' work like you used to do, for instance, thar's no tellin' what I would do for him in the long run. Well, I'm keepin' you up. I'll see you in the mornin'. Good night.”

“Good night,” Paul said.

With his lighted candle in his hand Hoag went down-stairs and turned into his own room, adjoining the one in which Jack and his grandmother slept. Putting his candle on a table, he began to undress. He had finished and was about to lie down when he heard a light footfall in the next room. A connecting door was pushed open and a tall, slender boy in a white nightgown stood in the moonlight which streamed through a vine-hung window and fell on the floor.

“Is that you, Daddy?”

“Yes, son.” There was an odd note of affection in Hoag's welcoming tone. “Do you want anything?”

The boy crept forward slowly. “I got scared. I woke and heard you talkin' up-stairs like you was still quarreling with Henry.”

“You must have been dreaming.” The father held out his arms and drew the boy into a gentle embrace. “Do you want to sleep with your old daddy?”

“Oh yes!” Jack crawled from his father's arms to the back part of the bed and stretched out his slender white legs against the plastered wall. “May I sleep here till morning, and get up when you do?”

“Yes, if you want to. Do you railly love to sleep in my bed?”

Hoag was now lying down, and Jack put his arm under his big neck and hugged him. “Yes, I do; I don't like my little bed; it's too short.”

“Thar, kiss daddy on the cheek and go to sleep,” Hoag said, under the thrill of delight which the boy's caresses invariably evoked. “It's late—awful late fer a chap like you to be awake.”

Jack drew his arm away, rolled back against the cool wall, and sighed.

“Daddy,” he said, presently, just as Hoag was composing himself for sleep, “I don't want Grandma to tag after me so much. She watches me like a hawk, an' is always saying if I don't look out I'll grow up and be good for nothing like Henry. Daddy, what makes Henry that way?”

“I don't know; he's just naturally lazy. Now go to sleep.”

“Some folks like Henry very, very much,” the boy pursued, getting further and further from sleep. “Grandma says he really is trying to be good, but don't know how. Was you like him when you was young, Daddy?”

“No—I don't know; why, no, I reckon not. Why do you ask such silly questions?”

“Grandma told Aunt Dilly one day that you always did drink, but that you didn't often show it. She said Henry had quit, and that was wonderful for any one who had it in his blood like Henry has. Is it in my blood, too, Daddy?”

“No.” Hoag's patience was exhausted. “Now go to sleep. I've got to rest, I'm tired, and must work to-morrow.”

“Are you a soldier, Daddy?” Jack pursued his habit of ignoring all commands from that particular source.

“No, I'm not. Now go to sleep; if you don't, I'll send you back to your own bed.”

“Then why does Mr. Trawley call you 'Captain'?”

“Who said—who told you he called me that?” Hoag turned his massive head on his pillow and looked at the beautiful profile of his son, as it was outlined against the wall.

“Oh, I heard him the other day, when he rode up after you to go somewhere. I was in the loft at the barn fixing my pigeon-box and heard him talking to you down at the fence. Just as he started off he said, 'Captain, your men will wait for you at the usual place. They won't stir without your commands.'”

Hoag's head moved again; his eyes swept on to the ceiling; there was a pause; his wit seemed sluggish.

“Are you really a captain, Daddy?” Jack raised himself on his elbow and leaned over his father's face, “No; lie down and go to sleep,” Hoag said, sternly. “Some people call me that just out of—out of respect, just as a sort o' nickname. The war is over; thar ain't no real captains now.”

“I think I know why they call you that.” Jack's delicate face was warm with pride, and his young voice was full and round. “It is because you are the bravest an' richest and best one. That's why Mr. Trawley said they wouldn't stir till you told them. I asked Grandma about it, and she looked so funny and acted so queer! She wouldn't say anything to me, but she went straight to Aunt Dilly, and they talked a long time, and Grandma looked like she was bothered. That was the night the White Caps rode along the road after that runaway negro. I saw Grandma watching from the window. She thought I was asleep, but I got up and looked out of the other window and she didn't know it. Oh, they looked awful in their long, white things. Aunt Dilly was down in the yard, and she told Grandma that God was going to have revenge, because the Bible said so. She said Cato had left his cabin and was hiding in the woods for fear they might get him. She said Cato was a good nigger, and that it was a sin to scare him and all the rest like that. Daddy, what are the White Caps? Where do they come from?”

“Oh, from roundabout in the mountains!” Hoag returned, uneasily. “Now go to sleep. You are nervous; you are shaking all over; those men won't hurt you.”

“But they do get white folks sometimes, and take them out and whip them,” Jack said, tremulously. “Aunt Dilly said one day to Cato that they begun on the blacks, but they had sunk so low that they were after their own race now. What would we do if they was to come here after—” The little voice trailed away on the still air, and glancing at the boy's face Hoag saw that the pretty, sensitive lips were quivering.

“After who?” he asked, curious in spite of his caution.

“After Henry,” Jack gulped. “They might, you know, to whip him for not working. They did whip a poor white man last summer because he let his wife and children go hungry. Daddy, if they was—really was to ride up here and call Henry out, would you shoot them? What would be the use, when there are so many and every one has a gun?”

“They—they are not coming after Henry.” Hoag was at the end of his resources. “Git all that rubbish out o' your head an' go to sleep!”

“How do you know they won't come, Daddy? Oh, Daddy, Henry really is my only brother an' I love 'im. You don't know how good he is to me sometimes. He mends my things, and makes toys for me with his knife, and tells me stories about sailors and soldiers and Indians.”

Hoag turned on his side and laid a caressing hand on the boy's brow. “Now, now,” he said, soothingly, “let's both go to sleep.”

“All right, Daddy.” Jack leaned over his father's face and kissed him. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Hoag rolled over to the front side of the bed, straightened himself out and closed his eyes.