The party consisted of half a dozen boys and girls whom Nan was chaperoning, Stuart, the footman and coachman. The start was made at sunrise. The morning was glorious, the air rich with the full breath of a southern spring. The footman lifted the bugle to his lips, and its music rang over the hills and broke into a thousand echoes as its notes bounded upward from cliff to cliff. The whip cracked over the back of four sleek horses and they were off, amid screams of laughter from the youngsters.
Stuart felt his heart leap with the joy of youth. The rivers and mountains, birds and fields of his native heath were calling once more, and his soul answered with a cry!
At the foot of the first hill the coach suddenly stopped beside the banks of the Swannanoa River.
Nan leaped to the ground, drew Stuart with her to the rear of the coach, and raised her arms.
"Lift me up," she cried, laughing.
He placed his hands under her arms and with a leap and a cry of laughter she was in the empty baggage rack.
"Now up with you!" she cried.
In a moment Stuart was seated snugly by her side and the big red coach was rolling along the old road beside the banks of the laughing river.
"Now, sir," Nan whispered, "do you know where you are going?"
Stuart nodded.