“Mother,” he questioned, “did it ever occur to you that Jim might grow fond of Pocahontas—­might want her for a wife, in fact?  I fancy something of the sort has happened, and that he came to grief.  He has been depressed and unhappy for months; and neither business, nor trouble about the old place can account for his shunning us in the way he has been doing lately.  I don’t believe he’s been inside this house twice in the last three months.”

“Yes, my dear, I used often to think of it—­long before Jim thought of it himself, I believe, Berkeley.  He spoke to Princess this summer, and she refused him.  She did not tell me about it; but from little things I could guess pretty accurately.  It’s a great disappointment to me, for I scarcely remember when the hope that they might love each other first dawned on my mind.  Mary Mason and I were warm friends, as well as cousins, and it seemed natural that our children should marry.”

Berkeley knew that his mother had wished him to marry Belle or Susie, and that this was not the first time that she had been disappointed in her desire for another Byrd-Mason match.  Had Temple lived, Nina Byrd would have been his wife:  the two had been sweethearts from babyhood.

Mrs. Mason sighed regretfully.  “I wish it could have been,” she said; “Jim is such a good fellow, and was always gentle and careful with the little girls, even when he grew a great rough lad; such a little chevalier in his feelings, too.  I remember one Christmas just after the war, when he was about fourteen, the children wanted some Christmas green to decorate the parlor.  It was the fall you were in the South, and they wanted to make the room pretty to welcome you home again.  Susie, Nina and my two girls, went over into the Shirley woods to get it, and Jim went with them.  They found plenty of lovely holly, but no mistletoe for a long time; you know how scarce it is around here.  At last Pocahontas ’spied a splendid bunch, full of pure, waxen berries, way up in the top of a tall oak tree, and she set her heart at once on having it.  There had been heavy sleet the night before, and every limb was caked with ice—­slippery as glass.  Climbing was doubly dangerous, and Grace begged him not to try, but that foolish Pocahontas looked disappointed, and Jim dashed right at the tree.  It was a terribly foolhardy thing to do, and Grace said it made her sick to watch him; every minute she expected to see him slip and come crashing to the ground.  The little girls all cried, and Grace boxed Jim’s ears the instant he was safe on the ground again with the mistletoe.  The children came home in great excitement, Pocahontas with the mistletoe hugged tight in her arms and tears pouring down her cheeks.  When I scolded Jim for his recklessness, he opened those honest hazel eyes of his at me in surprise and said, ‘But Princess wanted it,’ as if that were quite sufficient reason for risking his life.  Poor little Princess.”