For a little time the lad was silent; he was trying to formulate his prejudices into something substantial and sufficient, but the effort was a futile one. While he was silent, Bethune regarded him with a curious stare. "Honestly," said Gabriel, "I can give no reason; and I'm not sure I dislike you. But you always held your head so high that I kept away from you. I had an idea that you felt yourself above me because my grandmother is not as rich as the Cloptons."
The statement seemed to amaze Bethune. "You couldn't have been more than ten or twelve when I left here for the war," he remarked.
"Yes, I was more than thirteen," Gabriel replied.
"Well, I never thought that a boy so young could have such thoughts," Bethune declared.
"Pooh!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders; "a fourteen-year-old boy can have some mighty deep thoughts, specially ef he' been brung up in a house full of books, as Gabriel was. I hope, Gabriel," he went on, "that you'll stick to your cornstalk hoss as long as you want to. You'll live longer for it, an' your friends will love you jest the same. Frank here has never been a boy. Out of bib an' hippin, he jumped into long britches an' a standin' collar, an' the only fun he ever had in his life he got kicked out of college for, an' served him right, too. I'll bet you a thrip to a pint of pot-licker that Nan'll ride a stick hoss tomorrer ef she takes a notion—an' she's seventeen. Don't you forgit, Gabriel, that you'll never be a boy but once, an' you better make the most on it whilst you can."
The waggon came just then to the brow of the hill that overlooked Shady Dale, and here Mr. Sanders brought his team to a standstill. It had been many long months since his eyes or Bethune's had gazed on the familiar scene. "I'll tell you what's the fact, boys," he said, drawing in a long breath—"the purtiest place this side of Paradise lies right yander before our eyes. Ef I had some un to give out the lines, I'd cut loose and sing a hime. Yes, sirs! you'd see me break out an' howl jest like my old coon dog, Louder, used to do when he struck a hot track. The Lord has picked us out of the crowd, Frank, an' holp us along at every turn an' crossin'. But before the week's out, we'll forgit to be thankful. J'inin' the church wouldn't do us a grain of good. By next Sunday week, Frank, you'll be struttin' around as proud as a turkey gobbler, an' you'll git wuss an' wuss less'n Nan takes a notion for to frail you out ag'in."
Bethune relished the remark so little that he chirped to the mules, but Mr. Sanders seized the reins in his own hands. "We've fit an' we've fout, an' we've got knocked out," he went on, "an' now, here we are ready for to take a fresh start. The Lord send that it's the right start." He would have driven on, but at that moment, a shabby looking vehicle drew up alongside the waggon. Gabriel and Cephas knew at once that the outfit belonged to Mr. Goodlett. His mismatched team consisted of a very large horse and a very small mule, both of them veterans of the war. They had been left by the Federals in a broken-down condition, and Mr. Goodlett found them grazing about, trying to pick up a living. He appropriated them, fed them well, and was now utilising them not only for farm purposes, but for conveying stray travellers to and from Malvern, earning in this way many a dollar that would have gone elsewhere.
Mr. Goodlett drew rein when he saw Mr. Sanders and Francis Bethune, and gave them as cordial a greeting as he could, for he was a very undemonstrative and reticent man. At that time both Gabriel and Cephas thought he was both sour and surly, but, in the course of events, their opinions in regard to that and a great many other matters underwent a considerable change.