"It is not even to be thought of," declared his master, frowning heavily.
"No, suh! We can't even think about it, Marse Kenneth," said Zachariah, a trifle less decisively.
"So that is the end of it,—absolutely the end."
"Dat's what Ah say,—yas, suh, dat's what Ah say all along, suh!"
His master suddenly turned upon him. "I cannot go to that woman's house. It is unthinkable, Zachariah."
Zachariah began to see light. "Yo' all got to be mighty car'ful 'bout dese yere strange women, Marse Kenneth. Don' you forget what done happen in 'at ole Garden of Eden. Dis yere old Eve, she—"
"Still I am greatly relieved to know that she is in town and not out on the farm. It is a relief, isn't it, Zachariah?"
"Yas, suh,—hit sho'ly am."
They progressed slowly up a long hill and came to an extensive clearing, over which perhaps half a dozen farmhouses were scattered. Beyond this open space they entered a narrow strip of wood and, upon emerging, had their first glimpse of the Wabash River.
Stopping at the brow of the hill, they looked long and curiously over the valley into which they were about to descend. The panorama was magnificent. To the left flowed the swollen, turgid river, high among the willows and sycamores that guarded the low-lying bank. Far to the north it could be seen, a clayish, ugly monster, crawling down through the heart of the bowl-like depression. Mile after mile of sparsely wooded country lay revealed to the gaze of the travellers, sunken between densely covered ridges, one on either side of the river. Half a mile beyond where they stood feathery blue plumes of smoke rose out of the tree tops and, dispersing, floated away on the breeze,—and there lay the town of Lafayette, completely hidden from view.