"Eight miles."
"Whew!"
"Never mind, sir: we shall be there in an hour and a half."
And off we went like the wind. He drove very boldly and at the same time very cautiously, avoiding the numerous stumps, stones and ruts with admirable dexterity. I began to suspect that the boy was not a Virginia boy. When at length we reached the smooth stage-road I began to question him: "Are you the general's son?"
"No, sir: that was my father at the station"—he of the jug.
"How do you like this country?"
My habit from childhood had been to take the life of any stranger who had the audacity to tell me that he did not like any and every part of Virginia, but of late I have contented myself with slicing off his ears.
"The longer I live here the better I like it."
Smart boy! he had saved his auditory organs. But as yet his accent had not been sufficiently defined to enable me to tell his nationality. "You are not from England, are you?"
"No, indeed, sir—from New Hampshire."