The Major was a short, slight old gentleman, quite a contrast to the John Bull type of his lusty, side-whiskered neighbor. He wore a dingy brown wig, and as he pottered about, raising a rose from the earth with his gold-headed ebony stick, or stooped to uproot an encroaching weed, his furtive glance was often levelled on old Dwight. “I declare I really might as well,” he muttered, undecidedly. “What's the use making up your mind to a thing and letting it go for no sensible reason. He's taking a wrong view of it. I can tell that by the way he puffs at his cigar. Yes, I'll do it.” The Major passed through the gateway and slowly drew near his preoccupied neighbor. “Good-morning, Henry,” he said, as Dwight looked up. “If I'm any judge of your twists and turns, you are not yet in a thoroughly good-humor.” “Good-humor? No, sir, I'm _not_ in a good-humor. How could I be when that young scamp, the only heir to my name and effects--” Dwight's spleen rose and choked out his words, and, red in the face, he stood panting, unable to go further. “Well, it seems to me, while he's not _my_ son,” the Major began, “that you are--are--well, rather overbearing--I might say unforgiving. He's been sowing wild oats, but, really, if I am any judge of young men, he is on a fair road to--to genuine manhood.” “Road to nothing,” spluttered Dwight. “I gave him that big farm to see what he could do in its management. Never expected him to work a lick--just wanted to see if he could keep it on a paying basis, but it was an investment of dead capital. Then he took up the law. He did a little better at that along with Bill Garner to lean on, but that never amounted to anything worth mentioning. Then he went into politics.” “And I heard you say yourself, Henry,” the Major ventured, gently, “that you believed he was actually cut out for a future statesman.” “Yes, and like the fool that I was I hoped for it. I was so glad to see him really interested in politics that I laid awake at night thinking of his success. I heard of his popularity on every hand. Men came to me, and women, too, telling me they loved him and were going to work for him against that jack-leg lawyer Wiggin, and put him into office with a majority that would ring all over the State; and they meant it, I reckon. But what did he do? In his stubborn, bull-headed way he abused those mountain men who took the law into their hands for the public good, and turned hundreds of them against him; and all for a nigger--a lazy, trifling nigger boy!”