[CHAPTER XXVII.]
The sun had not yet risen, and few of the townspeople were astir, when Kenneth and his faithful Zeb set forth upon their journey.
They rode slowly through the almost deserted streets, the master in seemingly absent mood, quiet and thoughtful even to sadness, the servant glancing briskly from side to side with a nod and grin for each visible acquaintance with whom he felt himself upon terms of something like equality.
"Good-bye, Tig; dis heyah niggah's off for Glen Forest," he shouted as they passed the major's.
Tig, who was cutting wood in the kitchen door-yard, dropped his axe to gaze after them in wondering incredulity.
"Oh, you go 'long wid yo' tomfoolin'," he muttered, as he stooped to pick it up again, "'taint no sech ting; and the doctah ain't never goin' so fur, 'tout sayin' good-bye to our folks; and Miss Nell she's away whar he can't git at her. 'Spect I knows who's powerful fond of her, and who tinks he's mighty sight nicer'n any ole Britisher."
They were early risers at the major's, and Mrs. Lamar having retired the previous night several hours before her usual time, had slept off her fatigue and found herself ready to begin the day earlier than was her wont.
From her chamber window she, too, saw Kenneth and his attendant ride by.
"Why, there goes Dr. Clendenin equipped as for a journey, valise, saddle-bags and servant!" she exclaimed, addressing her husband who was still in bed.
"Yes, he's off for Pennsylvania."