Part 7 (1/2)

”Here are Eli and Mingo with the horses,” said Fairfax Cary, his back to the Republican. ”Let's away, Ludwell!”

Colonel Churchill laughed. ”Fontenoy draws you too, Fairfax? Well, my niece Unity is a pleasing minx--yes, by gad! Miss Dandridge is a handsome jade! Come away, come away, gentlemen!”

Federalists and Republicans exchanged the stiffest of bows, and the party for Fontenoy mounted and took the road. The Republicans whom they left behind had a few moments of laughter and jubilation, and then they also quitted the Court House yard and called to the servants for the horses.

”You'll spend the night at Edgehill, I hope, Mr. Rand?” cried one. ”Mrs.

Randolph expects you--she will wish to write to her father of your day--”

”No, no, come with me!” put in another. ”There's all this business to talk over--and I've a letter to show you from Mr. Madison--”

”Best come to the Eagle!” cried a third. ”No end of jolly fellows, and b.u.mpers to next year--”

Rand shook his head. ”Thank you, Colonel Randolph--but I am riding to Monticello. Mr. Jefferson has written for some papers from the library.

Burwell will care for me to-night. Present, if you will, my humble services to Mrs. Randolph and the young ladies. By the same token I cannot go with you, Mr. Carr, nor to the Eagle, Mr. Jones.--My grateful thanks to you, one and all, gentlemen! I am a plain man--I can say no more. We will ride together as far as the creek.”

The negro Joab brought his horse, a magnificent animal, the gift of Jefferson. He mounted and the party kept together as far as the creek, where their ways parted. Rand checked his horse, said good-bye, and watched the gentlemen who had given him their support ride cheerfully away toward the light of home. He himself was waiting for Adam Gaudylock, who was going with him to Monticello. After a moment's thought he decided not to wait there beside the creek, but to turn his horse and leave a message for Tom Mocket at a house which he had pa.s.sed five minutes before.

CHAPTER V

MONTICELLO

The house, a low frame one, stood back from the road, in a tangle of old, old flowering shrubs. Rand drew rein before the broken gate, and a young woman in a linsey gown rose from the porch step and came down the narrow path toward him. She carried an earthenware pitcher and cup.

”It's water just from the well,” she said, ”fresh and cool. Won't you have some?”

”Yes, I will,” answered Rand. ”Vinie, why don't you mend that gate?”

”I don't know, thir,” said Vinie. ”Tom's always going to.”

Rand laughed. ”Don't call me 'thir'! Vinie, I'm elected.”

Vinie set down her pitcher beside a clump of white phlox and wiped her hands on the skirt of her linsey dress. ”Are you going away to Richmond?” she asked.

”Not until October. When I do I'll go see the little old house you used to live in, Vinie!”

”It's torn down,” remarked Vinie soberly. ”Here's Tom now, and--and--”

”Adam Gaudylock. Don't you remember Adam?”

The hunter and Tom Mocket came up together. ”We beat them! we beat them, hey, Lewis!” grinned the scamp; and Gaudylock cried, ”Why, if here isn't the little partridge again! Don't you want to see what I've got in my pouch?”

”Yeth, thir,” said Vinie.

Rand and his lieutenant talked together in a low voice, Mocket leaning against black Selim's neck, Rand stooping a little, and with earnestness laying down the law of the case. They talked for ten minutes, and then Rand gathered up the reins, asked for another cup of water, and with a friendly ”Good-bye, Vinie!” rode off toward Monticello, Adam Gaudylock going with him.

Brother and sister watched the riders down the road until the gathering dark and the shadow of the trees by the creek hid them from sight. ”Just wait long enough and we'll see what we see,” quoth Tom. ”Lewis Rand's going to be a great man!”

”How great?” asked Vinie. ”Not as great as Mr. Jefferson?”

”I don't know,” the scamp answered st.u.r.dily. ”He might be. One thing's certain, anyhow; he's not built like Mr. Madison or Mr. Monroe. He'll not be content to travel the President's road always. He'll have a road all his own.” The scamp's imagination, not usually lively, bestirred itself under the influence of the day, of wine, and the still audible sound of horses' hoofs. ”By George, Vinie! it will be a Roman road, hard, paved, and fit for triumphs! He thinks it won't, but he's mistaken. He doesn't see himself!”