“There were gray soldiers of many battles—­yes?—­who fought the long fight against the blue soldiers in the Valley of Virginia; and after the war was over some of them would not surrender—­no; but they marched here, and stayed a long time, and kept their last flag, and so the place was called the Port of Missing Men.  They built that stone wall over there beyond the patch of cedars, and camped.  And a few died, and their graves are there by the cedars.  Yes; they had brave hearts,” and Oscar lifted his hat as though he were saluting the lost legion.

They turned again to the road and went forward at a gallop, until, half a mile from the gate, they came upon a clearing and a low, red-roofed bungalow.

“Your house, sir,” and Oscar swung himself down at the steps of a broad veranda.  He led the horses away to a barn beyond the house, while Armitage surveyed the landscape.  The bungalow stood on a rough knoll, and was so placed as to afford a splendid view of a wide region.  Armitage traversed the long veranda, studying the landscape, and delighting in the far-stretching pine-covered barricade of hills.  He was aroused by Oscar, who appeared carrying the suit-cases.

“There shall be breakfast,” said the man.

He threw open the doors and they entered a wide, bare hall, with a fireplace, into which Oscar dropped a match.

“All one floor—­plenty of sleeping-rooms, sir—­a place to eat here—­a kitchen beyond—­a fair barracks for a common soldier; that is all.”

“It is enough.  Throw these bags into the nearest bedroom, if there is no choice, and camp will be established.”

“This is yours—­the baggage that came by express is there.  A wagon goes with the place, and I brought the things up yesterday.  There is a shower-bath beyond the rear veranda.  The mountain water is off the ice, but—­you will require hot water for shaving—­is it not so?”

“You oppress me with luxuries, Oscar.  Wind up the clock, and nothing will be wanting.”

Oscar unstrapped the trunks and then stood at attention in the door.  He had expected Armitage to condemn the place in bitter language, but the proprietor of the abandoned hunting preserve was in excellent spirits, and whistled blithely as he drew out his keys.

“The place was built by fools,” declared Oscar gloomily.

“Undoubtedly!  There is a saying that fools build houses and wise men live in them—­you see where that leaves us, Oscar.  Let us be cheerful!”

He tried the shower and changed his raiment, while Oscar prepared coffee and laid a cloth on the long table before the fire.  When Armitage appeared, coffee steamed in the tin pot in which it had been made.  Bacon, eggs and toast were further offered.

“You have done excellently well, Oscar.  Go get your own breakfast.”  Armitage dropped a lump of sugar into his coffee cup and surveyed the room.