The road had other travelers than themselves.  At intervals a cloud of dust would meet or overtake them, and out of the windows of coach or chariot or lighter chaise faces would glance at them.  In the thick dust wheels and horses’ hoofs made no noise, the black coachmen sat still upon the boxes, the faces were languid with the springtime.  A moment and all were gone.  Oftener there passed a horseman.  If he were riding the planter’s pace, he went by like a whirlwind, troubling only to curse them out of his path; if he had more leisure, he threw them a good-morning, or perhaps drew rein to ask this or that of Hugon.  The trader was well known, and was an authority upon all matters pertaining to hunting or trapping.  The foot passengers were few, for in Virginia no man walked that could ride, and on a morn of early May they that walked were like to be busy in the fields.  An ancient seaman, lame and vagabond, lurched beside them for a while, then lagged behind; a witch, old and bowed and bleared of eye, crossed their path; and a Sapony hunter, with three wolves’ heads slung across his shoulder, slipped by them on his way to claim the reward decreed by the Assembly.  At a turn of the road they came upon a small ordinary, with horses fastened before it, and with laughter, oaths, and the rattling of dice issuing from the open windows.  The trader had money; the storekeeper had none.  The latter, though he was thirsty, would have passed on; but Hugon twitched him by the sleeve, and producing from the depths of his great flapped pocket a handful of crusadoes, ecues, and pieces of eight, indicated with a flourish that he was prepared to share with his less fortunate companion.

They drank standing, kissed the girl who served them, and took to the road again.  There were no more thick woods, the road running in a blaze of sunshine past clumps of cedars and wayside tangles of blackberry, sumac, and elder.  Presently, beyond a group of elms, came into sight the goodly college of William and Mary, and, dazzling white against the blue, the spire of Bruton church.

Within a wide pasture pertaining to the college, close to the roadside and under the boughs of a vast poplar, half a score of students were at play.  Their lithe young bodies were dark of hue and were not overburdened with clothing; their countenances remained unmoved, without laughter or grimacing; and no excitement breathed in the voices with which they called one to another.  In deep gravity they tossed a ball, or pitched a quoit, or engaged in wrestling.  A white man, with a singularly pure and gentle face, sat upon the grass at the foot of the tree, and watched the studious efforts of his pupils with an approving smile.

“Wildcats to purr upon the hearth, and Indians to go to school!” quoth MacLean.  “Were you taught here, Hugon, and did you play so sadly?”