Had Potter been less tired, to sleep would not have required an effort. Nature's noises, it seemed, had conspired to "weigh the eyelids down" with pleasant drowsiness. The "chatter-jack," clinging to the nodding iron-weed's purple top, trilled his carol in praise of midsummer. The cat-bird, with soft nursing song, taught her young ones among the trumpet vines; and all the sounds were gathered up and borne away by breezes that brought sweetened scents from gullied hill-sides where larkspurs grew.

The boy sat gazing at his new-found friend, and with that innate admiration of the powerful, which is felt alike by the savage and the cultivated man, contemplated his great chest and mighty arms. Nature's sleep-wooing sounds began to affect him. He nodded, and felt himself sliding from the chair, but making no effort to regain his seat, he stretched himself upon the grass and slept.

When John opened his eyes, he saw Potter sitting on a chair looking at him.

"Well, my young friend, have you enjoyed your nap?"

"Yes, sir. Seein' you sleep so easy, made me sleepy. Now," he continued as he got up, "let's talk erbout me goin' with you."

"All right. I have just thought of a plan that will be better for us than to stroll about the country. There, I see you are disappointed. Let me explain my plan. I thought that we might rent a small farm somewhere in this neighborhood, and together cultivate it. We would not permit our work to interfere with necessary pleasure. We would not strive to make money, but would compel our farm to render us liberal support. In season we could hunt and fish, and beside our own fire-place, we could grow wise in the study of books. I would be your teacher. You spoke of the negro, old Alf. Let him and his daughter go with us. After a few years you would be fitted to go out into the world. Ah, your eyes brighten. You approve of the plan?"

"Yes, sir. If you will learn me how to read I'll go anywhar with you."

"I will take as much pains with you as if you were my son. You may wonder why I wish to settle down in such an out-of-the-way place. After awhile you shall know—I hope."

"Why do you say you hope; kain't you tell me now?"

"No, not now; perhaps never, but I hope to—well, we will talk about that some other time. All I ask of you now is to have perfect confidence in me. It is a strange request, no doubt, but you shall not regret the granting of it. Who is that coming?"

"Alf," the boy replied.

A negro, not very large, and yet seemingly possessed of much strength, climbed over the fence, hung a scythe in a tree, and approached the place where Potter and John were sitting. His face was a study of good humor, tenderness, and quaint thoughtfulness. He was more intelligent than the average man of the neighborhood. He had lived in other parts of the country, and had, before the war, belong to a North Carolina planter.

When John introduced him to Potter, and when Potter had courteously taken his hand, Alf, removing his straw hat, made a profound bow and said:

"I'se mighty pleased ter meet you, sah, caze I sees de true genermen er shinin' on yo' face; but lemme tell you, white man, I wouldn't hab you hit me wid dat fist o' yo'n fur all de co'n dars gwine ter be raised in dis yere county fur two year. Er haw, haw! If dis man doan tote er maul 'roun' wid him I neber seed one. Look here, Mr. Potter, whar you frum, nohow?"

"As I told our friend John, I am from nearly everywhere."

"Yas, sah, I better b'leve you is, better b'leve dat fur er fact, caze da ain't turnin' out sich men in dis yere 'munity at de present ercasion. Haw, haw! John, jes look at dat man, will you? Huh, er pusson would be flingin' way his time ter come projickin wid you; but lemme tell you, I likes er big man. Dar's a heep mo' comferdence ter be put in er hoss den dar is in er fox. Yas, sah, yas. How long you gwinter circle 'roun' in dis yere neighborhood, Mr. Potter?"

Potter replied by gradually unfolding his plan. Old Alf listened with his head turned to one side, like a blackbird that hears the twanging of a fiddlestring. When Potter had concluded, old Alf scratched his head for a moment, and then, addressing John, remarked:

"Dem's calkerlations, I tell you dat. Whut does yo'se'l think erbout it?"

"Fits me so well," John replied, "that I feel like gittin' out thar an' caperin' 'round like er ca'f. I ain't had no chances; Alf, you know that. I have allus been tied down here with er putty short rope, too, an' ain't had er chance ter graze out ter the end uv the line; an' I've pulled agin the rope till my neck is gettin' putty sore, yit knowin' all the time that ef I broke the rope I wouldn't know whar ter go, nor what ter do arter I got thar."

"Talkin' like er floserfer an' er gogerfy an' er rithermertik, now, chile. I thinks it will be er good thing myse'f," old Alf went on. "I knows what edycation is—knows what it is by de lack o' it. Dar's one man dat knows de full wuth o' er dollar, an' dat's de man dat ain't got it."

"You can trust me," said Potter, "to carry out with the utmost faithfulness my part of the contract. Of course, I am a stranger to both of you, but——"

"Jes hol' on er minnit," Alf broke in. "You ain't gwine tell us how hones' you is, I hope."

"Oh, no; for I do not claim to be more honest than the average man is."

"Glad ter yere you say dat, fur de man dat's allus er talkin' 'bout how hones' he is, an' sorter wants ter prove 'fo' anybody dun 'sputed it, is 'spicious o' de fack hisse'f, an' de proof is 'tended ter 'vince his own mine ez much ez it is de folks dat's listenin' ter him. Dar wuz er man in ole North Kliney dat one day while ridin' long de pike come ter er toll gate. De gate wuz open, but dar wa'nt nobody at de house. De man looked way 'cross de fiel', he did, an' he seed de toll-gate keeper at work. He pitched out ober dar, er ha'f mile through de brilin' sun, an' gin de man five cents. 'You'se de hones' man I eber seed,' said de toll-gate keeper, 'ter come all ober dis hot groun' ter gin me five cents.' 'Yas,' said de traveler, sorter drawin' his mouf down like he been eatin' er green pear, 'nobody is mo' hones' den I is.' He went on er way, an' sah, in three munts from dat time he'd dun been sent ter de penytenchy fur stealin' er hoss."

Potter laughed with good-natured uproar—laughed so loud that a bee martin, which had just alighted on the fence, flapped its wings in sudden fright and flew away.

"I am not going about making a show of honesty, Alf," said Potter, when the echo of his merriment had died in the valley.

"Glad to know dat, sah, mighty glad ter know it ef I'se gwine ter hab dealin's wid you. I ken tell de right sort o' man putty nigh ever' time. I'll go inter dis 'rangement, caze we'll hab er lot o' fun 'long wid our work."

"Do you like to fish, Alf?"

"Do er yaller dog like er fried chicken?"

"Well, I rather think he does."

"Uh, huh. Wall den, I likes ter fish."

"Do you like to hunt?"

"Do er muley steer like de sweet grass dat grows in de cornder o' de fence up ergin de bottom rail?"

"It strikes me that he does."

"Uh, huh. Wall, it strikes me dat I likes ter hunt."

"Mr. Potter," said John, "the sun is er goin' down an' its erbout time we wuz eatin' uv er snack. You an' Alf jest keep on er talkin' while I go an' put the vidults on the table."

"Dat's er monster fine boy," said Alf, when John had gone into the house. "He's sorter quiet now caze he ain't much erquainted, but airter while he'll argy er p'int wid you. Dar ain't nobody dat's got er better heart den he has, but lemme tell you, dat white boy ain't erfeerd o' ole Nick hisse'f."

"I have known him but a few hours," Potter replied, "but I have become much attached to him. Where is your daughter. Alf?"

"Ober yander in er cabin on de hillside. Ef you lissun you mout yere her singin', dat is, ef her pains ain't on her. Po' chile, she hab paid mighty dear fur de singin' she's done in dis yere life; but her reward gwine ter come airter while, Mr. Potter. Her crown goin' ter be mighty bright—rubbed bright wid de soft rag o' long sufferin', sah. Huh, my mouf waters now when I think 'bout dem huntin' sprees we'se gwine ter hab; an' lemme tell you, I knows whar de b'ars is way up de riber in de canebrakes, knows zactly whar da uses. John he's got er rifle mighty nigh long ez he is, an' I'se got one deze yere army guns—her name's Nance—dat shoots—wall, when er bullet gits outen dat gun it jes keeps on er goin', it peer like, an' I hab trained her sights down till she shoots right whar I hol's her, too. Dar, John say come on."

They went into the house. Alf did not care for anything to eat. He had eaten just before leaving home, but he found so much satisfaction in seeing his friends eat that he would take a seat near the table and watch the performance. The old negro became more and more interested in Potter, and occasionally, after a sort of digestive contemplation of a remark made by the gigantic guest, he would slowly nod his head in thorough approval. Suddenly he slapped his leg and exclaimed:

"De Lawd is already dun hepped us out on dis yere pilgumage by puttin' me in mine o' de very place we wants. Up de river 'bout six miles frum yere—John, you know de place—dar's er farm o' some sebenty-five acres, er good 'eal o' it dun cleared. Some o' it is in de riber bottom an' is monst'us rich. B'longs ter ole man Sevier dat libes 'bout two mile frum yere. Think we ken git it fur mighty low rent, fur nobody ain't lived on it fur three ur fo' year. How does dem obserwations strike de 'sembly?"

Potter and John were delighted with the prospect of so early a ripening of their hopes. The place was in the edge of a wild section of the country. So much the better. It was at least two miles from any other house. Better still.

"Uncle Jeff won't object to me goin'," said John, "but Aunt Liz will, not 'cause she's afeerd I won't do well, but 'cause——"

"'Cause she's feerd you will," old Alf broke in. "Oh, I knows dat lady. Haw, haw! Knows dat lady frum way back yander way up inter de time whut ain't got yere yit, but dat doan make no diffunce. We'll whittle off all de wrinkles on de ho'n o' her ubjections."

"You are the most figurative man I ever knew," Potter smilingly remarked.

"Oh, no, sah, dat's whar you's wrong. I ain't figertive hardly none. I ken make er figer one an' ken cut er mighty caper wid er figer two, but I kain't add 'em tergedder 'cept I do it in my mine; but let us git down ter dis yere bizness. I'll go ober ter ole man Sevier's dis ebenin' an' tell him ter drap ober yere arly Monday mawnin', an' he'll come, lemme tell you, fur he is ez keen ter let us hab dat place ez we is ter git it. B'lebe I'll go dis minit," he added, taking up his hat. "Good ebenin', 'panions o' de mighty fine enterprise; good ebenin' ter you."

Potter and John talked until a late hour and then went to bed up near the clapboard roof. John soon sank to sleep. Potter lay gazing at the stars that winked through holes in the roof. A whippoorwill sat on the stack chimney and sang a lonesome song, but a cricket came out from under an old trunk, stopped in a bar of moonlight that fell on the floor, and chirruped merrily. The screech-owl, muffling and fluttering among the damp leaves of the rank greenbrier, cried with annoying cadence, but the tree-toad, with his somnolent croak, smoothed down the pillow with gentle sleepiness.

Potter was awakend by John, who called him to breakfast. Old Alf soon came. Old man Sevier would be pleased to rent his farm. He cared not so much for the money as for the improvements that might be made. The morning hours were spent in a delighted talking over of maturing plans. In the afternoon old Jeff and his wife returned. Old Jeff smiled upon the project, but the old woman wrinkled her long nose, drove to the mole on her chin the wavering lines of dissatisfaction, and declared that people who took up with every rag-tag that came along always starved to death or had to beg among the neighbors. Everyone knew that she had done her duty by John, and why he wanted to leave was something she could not understand. "You never seed this man till yistidy," the old woman went on, addressing her nephew, "an' I don't know why in the name uv common sense you wanter foller him off. Jest like men folks, anyway. Anybody ken come erlong an' lead 'em by the nose. Alf!"

"Yessum."

"Ain't you got no sense?"

"Wall'um, I'se got mo' den de man dat tried ter rive clapboards wid er razor an' den tried ter shave hisse'f wid er froe."

"I don't b'leve it."

"I kaint hep dat. Mr. Potter, doan pay no 'tention ter de lady, sah."

"You good for nuthin' black imp, you neenter be er tellin' nobody what ter do on my ercount."

"Come, come," said old Jeff; "ef you must chop wood be keerful uv yo' chips. Ef John wants ter go, w'y he's goin', that's all. He won't be so fur erway but you ken see him ever' once in er while."

"Oh, I won't be hankerin' airter seein' him. He ain't no blood kin uv mine, the Lawd knows."

"Madam," said Potter, "I am very sorry that I have caused——"

"Oh, shet ye' mouth," she snapped. "You don't know what you ase sorry uv."

With the exception of an occasional outburst from the old woman the remainder of the day was passed pleasantly. Early the next morning Sevier came over. The farm was rented on easy terms. Preparations for immediate departure were begun. John and Alf each owned a horse. Alf had two plows and several hoes. Old Jeff would lend them his wagon to haul their "plunder" over to their new home. Just as they had finished loading the wagon Alf's daughter came, walking with a crutch. She was but little more than a child, and though she bore the marks of great suffering yet she was bright and cheerful. When everything was ready, old Alf, taking hold of his daughter's arm, said: "Jule, me'n you will ride up yere on dis seat, fur I gwine ter drive. Mr. Potter, you an' John set back dar on dat straw bed."

Jeff and his wife were standing near the wagon. Mrs. Lucas, while watching the smallest detail of every movement, kept up a constant wrinkling of her nose. "This is the biggest fool caper I ever seed," she declared. "Shew, thar! the fetchtaked chickens air scratchin' up the pepper agin. The biggest fool caper I ever seed."

"I knowd o' er bigger one once," Alf replied, slily winking at Jeff.

"I don't know when it wuz."

"It wuz the time," Alf rejoined, again winking at Jeff, "that one o' the Scroggins boys clim up a sycamore tree an' tried to blow out de moon."

"Oh, go on an' keep yo' mouth shet."

"I'se gwine on, lady, but I kaint promise you ter keep my mouf shet, fur de man dat keeps his mouf shet is gwine ter starve, caze lessen he opens it he kaint put nuthen ter eat in it—er haw, haw."

"Oh, shet up. Jest ter think you would run erway and leave er half-grown crap."

"Me an' Mr. Jeff dun fixed dat, lady."

"Oh, I'll be bound he'd fix anything that don't take no trouble. Stands thar now, grinnin' like er possum. Don't peer like he'd kere whuther we raise a crap or not. Thar, drive on with you, now. Never seed sich a fool caper in my life. Bet you all starve to death."

It was so early when they drove off that the dew was still dripping from a vine-covered tree. Alf and his daughter hummed a tune. John, placing one hand on Potter's knee, looked earnestly into his face and said:

"This is the happiest day uv my life."

"Ah, my boy, we may spend many happy days together. I was just thinking how, in my case, a few hours had brought such a change—the change from a tramp to a man who is driving toward his own home."

"Whoa, whoa," exclaimed Alf, pulling on the lines. "John, reach back dar an' han' me Ole Nance (meaning his gun). Come back yere, Pete, you triflin' raskil (addressing his dog)."

"What's the matter?" Potter asked.

"Matter? Is you so blind dat you kaint see dat monst'us rattlesnake crossin' de road right up dar?"

"My gracious, what a monster!" Potter exclaimed.

"Yas," replied Alf, as he took his gun and cautiously climbed down out of the wagon, "an' he ain't eat no less'n er ha'f er dozen squirrels fur his breakfast. Git out, generman, an' watch de 'formance."

Potter and John got out. Alf continued: "Wait till he curls an' hol's up his head. Doan git up too close, caze he blow at you an' make you sick. Greshus, how pizen he is. Now hol' on."

The snake was holding up its head. Alf took deliberate aim and fired. Instantly the reptile was a twisting and tumbling mass of yellow and black and green.

"He's lookin' round fur his head," Alf remarked, "but he ain't gwine ter find it dis mawnin'. Wait till I pull off his rattles. Wants 'em ter put in my fiddle."

He pulled off the rattles while the snake was still writhing, and, as he climbed back into the wagon, remarked: "It's allus a sign o' good luck ter kill er rattlesnake dat's crossin' yo' road. Get-ep, boys."

They crossed the beautiful river and drove up the stream.

"Yander is de place," said Alf, pointing.

Yes, it was the place—a place from which John's life was to turn in a new direction—a place of learning, romance, and adventure—a place of laughter and of tears.