“Very well,” said the General, gravely.  Chad started off on a trot and stopped suddenly, “I wish you’d please tell that little gurl”—­Chad pronounced the word with some difficulty—­“that I didn’t mean nothin’ callin’ her a little gal.  Ever’body calls gurls gals whar I come from.”

“All right,” laughed the General.  Chad trotted all the way home and there Miss Lucy made him take off his wet clothes at once, though the boy had to go to bed while they were drying, for he had no other clothes, and while he lay in bed the Major came up and listened to Chad’s story of the afternoon, which Chad told him word for word just as it had all happened.

“You did just right, Chad,” said the Major, and he went down the stairs, chuckling: 

“Wouldn’t go in and get dry clothes because Dan wouldn’t apologize.  Dear me!  I reckon they’ll have it out when they see each other again.  I’d like to be on hand, and I’d bet my bottom dollar on Chad.”  But they did not have it out.  Half an hour after supper somebody shouted “Hello!” at the gate, and the Major went out and came back smiling.

“Somebody wants to see you, Chad,” he said.  And Chad went out and found Dan there on the black pony with Snowball behind him.

“I’ve come over to say that I had no business hittin’ you down at the creek, and—­” Chad interrupted him: 

“That’s all right,” he said, and Dan stopped and thrust out his hand.  The two boys shook hands gravely.

“An’ my papa says you are a man an’ he wants you to come over and see us and I want you—­and Harry and Margaret.  We all want you.”

“All right,” said Chad.  Dan turned his black pony and galloped off.

“An’ come soon!” he shouted back.

Out in the quarters Mammy Ailsie, old Tom’s wife, was having her own say that night.

“Ole Marse Cal Buford pickin’ a piece of white trash out de gutter an’ not sayin’ whar he come from an’ nuttin’ ‘bout him.  An’ old Mars Henry takin’ him jus’ like he was quality.  My Tom say dae boy don’ know who is his mammy ner his daddy.  I ain’ gwine to let my little mistis play wid no sech trash, I tell you—­’deed I ain’t!” And this talk would reach the drawing-room by and by, where the General was telling the family, at just about the same hour, the story of the horse sale and Chad’s purchase of the old brood mare.

“I knew where he was from right away,” said Harry.  “I’ve seen mountain-people wearing caps like his up at Uncle Brutus’s, when they come down to go to Richmond.”

The General frowned.

“Well, you won’t see any more people like him up there again.”

“Why, papa?”

“Because you aren’t going to Uncle Brutus’s any more.”

“Why, papa?”

The mother put her hand on her husband’s knee.

“Never mind, son,” she said.

CHAPTER 10.  THE BLUEGRASS