Ten years before, Cyrus Lyon, one of the four brothers of whom Colonel Duncan was the eldest, was a resident of Hillsburg in the State of Vermont, where he had settled on a valley farm, which he had hired with the intention of buying it when he was able to do so. He was married in Derry, and had two children, with whom he moved to his new home. He lived in an old house, between which and the public road flowed a small river, nearly dry most of the year, but exceedingly turbulent in the spring when the snow melted on the mountains. A freshet came, and the house was surrounded by water. The bridge over the stream was raised, and Cyrus went out to secure it. His wife followed to assist him, and while both of them were on it, a rush of waters came which tore the structure into fragments, and both of them were swept away by the mad torrent. They were drowned in spite of the efforts of the neighbors to rescue them. But they saved the two children who remained in the house. Noah had taken these two children and brought them up as his own, for the father did not leave property enough to pay his debts. Artemas was fifteen and Dorcas was seventeen. The colonel paid for their support for ten years, and left each a handsome legacy, in trust with Noah. In two hours from the county town, Levi Bedford reined in his four horses at the front door of the Riverlawn mansion. CHAPTER IV THE ARRIVAL AND WELCOME AT RIVERLAWN It was about five o'clock in the afternoon when the road-wagon drew up in front of the mansion at Riverlawn. Less than a week before the Northern family had left the deep snows and the icy cold of New Hampshire, and the air of the Southern clime was comparatively mild and soft. The magnolias were as green as in summer; certain flowers had pushed their way out of the ground, and blossomed in the garden. The young people in the wagon had been delighted with the ride, the air was so mild, and everything was so new and strange. They had struck the river road leading from the estate to the village, and the rest of the way was along Bar Creek to the bridge which crossed it to the mansion. They had passed Pink, the old negro who came with the baggage, at Belgrade, where he had stopped to water his two horses. Levi Bedford had talked all the way, pointing out every object of interest to the new-comers, telling stories, repeating all the old jokes of the locality, which were quite new to his audience. As the manager wheeled his horses from the creek road upon the bridge, he cracked his whip, which seemed to be the signal for the four spirited horses to dance and prance, in order to make a proper display as they reached the end of their journey. Gathered in the walks in front of the house were all the servants of the mansion, and all the field-hands belonging to the place, to welcome the family.