“When I get to Richmond,” he suddenly announced, “I am going to find a place where they sell books.  I have a dollar.”

The hunter put his hand in his pouch, drew out a shining coin, and tossed it across the fire.  “There’s another,” he said.  “Good Spanish!  Buy your Caesars and your Pompeys, and when you are a lawyer like Mr. Jefferson, come West—­come West!”

Men and beasts slumbered through the autumn night, waked at dawn, and, breakfast eaten, took again the road.  Revolving cask, horses, dogs, and men, they crossed the wet sedge and entered the pine wood, left that behind and traversed a waste of scrub and vine, low hills, and rain-washed gullies.  Chinquapin bushes edged the road, the polished nut dark in the centre of each open burr; the persimmon trees showed their fruit, red-gold from the first frosts; the black haw and cedar overhung the ravines; there was much sassafras, and along the plashy streams the mint grew thick and pungent-sweet.  In the deep and pure blue sky above them, fleecy clouds went past like galleons in a trade-wind.

The tobacco-roller was a taciturn man, and the boy, his son, never thought of disburdening his soul to his father.  Each had the power to change for the other the aspect of the world, but they themselves were strangers.  Gideon Rand, as he rode, thought of the bright leaf in the cask, of the Richmond warehouse, and fixed the price in his mind.  His mind was in a state of sober jubilation.  His only brother, a lonely, unloved, and avaricious merchant in a small way, had lately died, and had left him money.  The hundred acres upon the Three-Notched Road that Gideon had tilled for another were in the market.  The money would buy the land and the small, dilapidated house already occupied by the Rands.  The purchase was in train, and in its own fashion Gideon’s sluggish nature rejoiced.  He was as land-mad as any other Virginian, but he had neither a lavish hand nor a climbing eye.  What he loved was the black earth beneath the tobacco, and to walk between the rows and feel the thick leaves.  For him it sufficed to rise at dawn and spend the day in the fields overseeing the hands, to come home at dusk to a supper of corn bread and bacon, to go to bed within the hour and sleep without a dream until cockcrow, to walk the fields again till dusk and supper-time.  Church on Sunday, Charlottesville on Court Days, Richmond once a year, varied the monotony.  The one passion, the one softness, showed in his love for horses.  He broke the colts for half the county; there was no horse that he could not ride, and his great form and coal-black locks were looked for and found at every race.  The mare that he was riding he had bought with his legacy, before he bought the land on the Three-Notched Road.  He was now considering whether he could afford to buy in Richmond a likely negro to help him and Lewis in the fields.  With all the stubbornness of a dull mind, he meant to keep Lewis in the fields.