They went to Major Perdue's, and were ushered in by Minervy Ann. "I'm mighty glad you come," said she; "kaze 'taint been ten minnits sence Marse Tomlin wuz talkin' 'bout gwine over dar whar you live at; an' he ain't got no mo' business in de hot sun dan a rabbit is got in a blazin' brushpile. Miss Vallie done tole 'im so, an' I done tole 'im so. He went ter bed wid de headache, an' he got up wid it; an' what you call dat, ef 'taint bein' sick? But, sick er well, he'll be mighty glad ter see you." Aunt Minervy Ann made haste to inform the Major that he had visitors. "I tuck 'em in de settin'-room," she said, "kaze dat parlour look ez cold ez a funer'l. It give me de shivers eve'y time I go in dar. De cheers set dar like dey waitin' fer ter make somebody feel like dey ain't welcome, an' dat ar sofy look like a coolin'-board." Mr. Sanders was very much at home in the Major's house; he had dandled Vallie on his knee when she was a baby; and he had made the Major's troubles his own as far as he could. Consequently the greeting he received was as cordial as he could have desired. "Major," he said, when he found opportunity to state the nature of his business, "do you know young Gabe Tolliver?" "Mighty well--mighty well," responded Major Perdue, "and a fine boy he is. He'll make his mark some day." "Not onless we do somethin' to help him out. They ain't no way in the world he can prove that he didn't kill that feller Hotchkiss. Ike Varner done the killin', but he's gone, an' I think his wife is fixin' to go to Atlanta. They've got the dead wood on Gabriel. They ain't no case at all ag'in the rest; but you know how Gabriel is--he goes moonin' about in the fields both day an' night, an' it's mighty hard for to put your finger on him when you want him. An' to make it wuss, Hotchkiss called his name more'n once before he died. It looks black for Gabriel, an' we must do somethin' for him." Major Perdue leaned forward a little, a frown on his face, and stretched forth his left hand, in the palm of which he placed the forefinger of his right. "I'll tell you what, Mr. Sanders, I'm just as much obliged to you for coming to me as if you had saved me from drowning. I have come to the point where I can't hold in much longer, and maybe you'll keep me from making a fool of myself. I'll say beforehand, I don't care what your plan is; I don't care to know it--just count on me." "And where do I come in?" Colonel Blasengame inquired. "Right by my side," responded Major Perdue. Without further preliminaries, Mr. Sanders set forth the details of the programme that had arranged itself in his mind, and when he was through, Major Perdue leaned back in his chair, and gazed with admiration at the bland and child-like countenance of this Georgia cracker. The innocence of childhood shone in Mr. Sanders's blue eyes.