the Major, on his way through the campus, swish through the grass with his cane in great satisfaction.  He always spoke of the boy now as his adopted son and, whenever it was possible, he came in to take Chad out home to spend Sunday with him; but, being a wise man and loving Chad’s independence, he let the boy have his own way.  He had bought the filly—­and would hold her, he said, until Chad could buy her back, and he would keep the old nag as a broodmare and would divide profits with Chad—­to all of which the boy agreed.  The question of the lad’s birth was ignored between them, and the Major rarely spoke to Chad of the Deans, who were living in town during the winter, nor questioned him about Dan or Harry or Margaret.  But Chad had found out where the little girl went to church, and every Sunday, despite Caleb Hazel’s protest, he would slip into the Episcopal church, with a queer feeling —­ little Calvinist of the hills that he was —­ that it was not quite right for him even to enter that church; and he would watch the little girl come in with her family and, after the queer way of these “furriners,” kneel first in prayer.  And there, with soul uplifted by the dim rich light and the peal of the organ, he would sit watching her; rising when she rose, watching the light from the windows on her shining hair and sweet-spirited face, watching her reverent little head bend in obeisance to the name of the Master, though he kept his own held straight, for no Popery like that was for him.  Always, however, he would slip out before the service was quite over and never wait even to see her come out of church.  He was too proud for that and, anyhow, it made him lonely to see the people greeting one another and chatting and going off home together when there was not a soul to speak to him.  It was just one such Sunday that they came face to face for the first time.  Chad had gone down the street after leaving the church, had changed his mind and was going back to his room.  People were pouring from the church, as he went by, but Chad did not even look across.  A clatter rose behind him and he turned to see a horse and rockaway coming at a gallop up the street, which was narrow.  The negro driver, frightened though he was, had sense enough to pull his running horse away from the line of vehicles in front of the church so that the beast stumbled against the curb-stone, crashed into a tree, and dropped struggling in the gutter below another line of vehicles waiting on the other side of the street.  Like lightning, Chad leaped and landed full length on the horse’s head and was tossed violently to and fro, but he held on until the animal lay still.

“Unhitch the hoss,” he called, sharply.

“Well, that was pretty quick work for a boy,” said a voice across the street that sounded familiar, and Chad looked across to see General Dean and Margaret watching him.  The boy blushed furiously when his eyes met Margaret’s and he thought he saw her start slightly, but he lowered his eyes and hurried away.