"I remember the story," said Bob, "though I don't recall the one particular 'possum used by Simon as an illustration. But I remember that Simon took me on his back one night, out into the woods where the dogs had treed one. It must have been long after Simon told the 'possum story, for I don't think that old Wolf went with us. He must have been dead." "Yes, he was," the old man agreed. "I recollect the night. A coon was treed in an enormous oak, and the boys were a long time in cutting it down. Do you remember, Dan?" "Yes, sir," I spoke up. "It was the night that Mr. Bill Putney was killed in town by Mr. Tom Ellis Gray." "That's a fact," said the old man. "But how do you happen to associate the two events?" "Why, when we came back to the house, a boy was waiting for you. They wanted you to come to town and go on a bond." "But that couldn't have fastened it on your mind. What else was there? Out with it, sir." "Why, Old Miss got mad at me for coming through the hall and slapped me off the front steps." "Ah, that was it," he said, musing. "And it seems long ago, even to me, much longer than happenings thirty years before." "Dan," said Young Master, "get my horse. But wait a moment. You may hitch up the buggy if you want to go over to Potter's with me." "I don't care to go unless you would much rather have me," I replied. "All right, then; saddle the horse." "He has a love affair of his own, I am inclined to think," the old gentleman said, talking to Bob, but winking at me. "How about it, Dan?" I had turned to go, but had halted and faced about. "A very empty love affair I am afraid, Master." "Tut, sir, tut. There is no such thing as an empty love affair if it's managed rightly. You are too faint-hearted. Do you remember what the poet said?" This was the first time that he had addressed himself to what I conceived to be my learning, and I was flattered. "You mean Pope's master, sir." "Hang the scoundrel, to talk about Pope's master. He had no master, or if he had, he bought his freedom with his genius." I was still flattered and I made bold to venture upon a criticism. "Not with his genius, but with his pains and his polish." "Confound you, sir, go on and get that horse, you yellow scoundrel." When I had led the horse round to the gate, Bob and the old man came out talking in easy good-humor. "Your mother is mightily tickled," said Old Master. "She thinks you have drawn a prize. And so do I. She's a charming young woman, sir. But you have said nothing as to when the wedding is to take place." Bob had put his foot in the stirrup to mount, but he took it out and stood there irresolute, as if he knew not what to do or say. "You haven't said a word as to the time set for the marriage," Old Master repeated. "No, sir. She is to wait--wait until I come home." A dark shadow fell upon the old man's face, and without another word, he wheeled about and strode into the yard.