CONTENTS
[Prelude]
[CHAPTER ONE Kettledrum and Fife]
[CHAPTER TWO A Town with a History]
[CHAPTER THREE The Return of Two Warriors]
[CHAPTER FOUR Mr. Goodlett's Passengers]
[CHAPTER FIVE The Story of Margaret Gaither]
[CHAPTER SIX The Passing of Margaret]
[CHAPTER SEVEN Silas Tomlin Goes A-Calling]
[CHAPTER EIGHT The Political Machine Begins Its Work]
[CHAPTER NINE Nan and Gabriel]
[CHAPTER TEN The Troubles of Nan]
[CHAPTER ELEVEN Mr. Sanders in His Cups]
[CHAPTER TWELVE Caught in a Corner]
[CHAPTER THIRTEEN The Union League Organises]
[CHAPTER FOURTEEN Nan and Her Young Lady Friends]
[CHAPTER FIFTEEN Silas Tomlin Scents Trouble]
[CHAPTER SIXTEEN Silas Tomlin Finds Trouble]
[CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Rhody Has Something to Say]
[CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The Knights of the White Camellia]
[CHAPTER NINETEEN Major Tomlin Perdue Arrives]
[CHAPTER TWENTY Gabriel at the Big Poplar]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Bridalbin Follows Gabriel]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO The Fate of Mr. Hotchkiss]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Mr. Sanders Searches for Evidence]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Captain Falconer Makes Suggestions]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Mr. Sanders's Riddle]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Cephas Has His Troubles]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Mr. Sanders Visits Some of His Old Friends]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Nan and Margaret]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Bridalbin Finds His Daughter]
[CHAPTER THIRTY Miss Polly Has Some News]
[CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Mr. Sanders Receives a Message]
[CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Malvern Has a Holiday]
[CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE Gabriel as an Orator]
[CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Nan Surrenders]
GABRIEL TOLLIVER
Prelude
"Cephas! here is a letter for you, and it is from Shady Dale! I know you will be happy now."
For several years Sophia had listened calmly to my glowing descriptions of Shady Dale and the people there. She was patient, but I could see by the way she sometimes raised her eyebrows that she was a trifle suspicious of my judgment, and that she thought my opinions were unduly coloured by my feelings. Once she went so far as to suggest that I was all the time looking at the home people through the eyes of boyhood—eyes that do not always see accurately. She had said, moreover, that if I were to return to Shady Dale, I would find that the friends of my boyhood were in no way different from the people I meet every day. This was absurd, of course—or, rather, it would have been absurd for any one else to make the suggestion; for at that particular time, Sophia was a trifle jealous of Shady Dale and its people. Nevertheless, she was really patient. You know how exasperating a man can be when he has a hobby. Well, my hobby was Shady Dale, and I was not ashamed of it. The man or woman who cannot display as much of the homing instinct as a cat or a pigeon is a creature to be pitied or despised. Sophia herself was a tramp, as she often said. She was born in a little suburban town in New York State, but never lived there long enough to know what home was. She went to Albany, then to Canada, and finally to Georgia; so that the only real home she ever knew is the one she made herself—out of the raw material, as one might say.
Well, she came running with the letter, for she is still active, though a little past the prime of her youth. I returned the missive to her with a faint show of dignity. "The letter is for you," I said. She looked at the address more carefully, and agreed with me. "What in the world have I done," she remarked, "to receive a letter from Shady Dale?"
"Why, it is the simplest thing in the world," I replied. "You have been fortunate enough to marry me."