They were crossing a ravine on the high bridge which spanned it, and Frances had drawn rein to look with delight up and down at the clear stream curving on its way through a narrow valley of rich meadow-land, where the corn was stacked in sere wigwams across the field, and to gaze down at the wild gorge below, tree-clad, with the stream foaming at its base; or just across, where the land dipped suddenly and a ruined cottage, moss-grown, tree-hidden, clung to the hillside. She was wondering whether she should try the steep hill beyond, slippery from the rain, when she saw a man riding slowly down it, another followed him, and another. Their splashed top-boots and loose-fitting coats and wide soft hats bespoke the mountaineer. But Frances, remembering the level stretch of road beyond, where Starlight could take the top of his speed, rode on. Before she breasted the hill she met a farmer driving his wagon, full to the brim with yellow ears of corn, and a man on his sure-footed mule riding carelessly by his side, talking the topics of the county. Then she remembered the day. She looked at her watch,--it was after ten; when she got back the hubbub would be at its height, and her way, of necessity, lay by the Court-house. She turned her horse's head. All the way homeward she thought of her adventure gleefully; it was no fault of her own she was abroad, and as she must go through the throng, she was going to see it _all_. She had always wished it because it was forbidden, now she would have her wish. About the Court-house the streets were thronged for a square on either side--horses, carriages, men. The autumn court was an important one. Farmers were not so pressed, there was leisure to look outside of their own fields; men of the town, of distant towns, of farms far and near, of mountain cabins, thronged the steps and the bit of green about the house and the street, back to the small houses and narrow pavements built about it like a court when the town was a village a century and more ago. They made way for her as she came riding slowly through the press and eyed her curiously, but Frances, when she should have hurried, took her time. She was exhilarated. Here the men had cleared a space and a negro was trotting a horse up and down, the onlookers noting his points sagely; there, drawn close to the curb, were the small wagons of the negroes who were vending things to eat and to drink, queer and curious. And there standing straight in her wagon and looking out eagerly for chances of trade was Roxie. She spied Frances through the crowd. "Chile, what yuh doin' hyar?" she asked, soon as Frances was abreast of her. "Forgot! I got caught!" said Frances, just loud enough for her to hear. Starlight was close to the wagon's wheel and for the moment they were held in the crowd. "Better go 'long home!" warned the old darkey. "I'm going. Roxie, what have you got there?"