"Old Jack? He's around here somewhere. It will tickle him pretty nigh to death to know you'd look for him. I'll tell him when he comes in." "Oh, no. He's not the man. This man's quite young, and his name is Lucian Brown, I think." "Then I don't know anything about him, I'm sorry to say." "Are you feeding many mules at present?" "Well, not many at present, but I expect to have more in a day or two. Mr. Sawyer has gone down in the country to gather up a lot. He drove out just a few moments ago. I tell you, there's a hustler, Mr. McElwin. He don't wait, he makes things happen." "Which way did he go?" McElwin asked. "I don't know, exactly, but I think he took the Spring Hill road. He must be going after something particularly fine, for I heard him tell old Josh that he wanted a bottle of the oldest liquor in town, no matter what it costs. But he didn't take it with him, come to recollect. He 'lowed he'd want it this evening when he come back." McElwin walked straightway to his home. His appearance at that odd hour caused surprise, and his wife, having seen him through the window, came to the door with something of a flurry. "Is there anything wrong?" she asked, as he stepped into the hall. "Nothing at all," he answered, hanging up his hat. "Why?" "Because you are home so early." "Oh, that's it. I was tired and I thought I'd come home to rest." She took his arm and they passed into the rear parlor. "Where is Eva?" he asked, sitting down. "I don't know. I think she's out for a walk. Are you tired?" she asked, standing behind him, with her hands resting on the back of the chair. "Not now," he said, reaching back and taking her hands. He pressed them against his cheeks. "You always rest me." "Do I?" She leaned affectionately over him. "I was afraid that I did not. You have had so much to worry you of late." "Yes," he sighed. "But when we are alone I can forget it all. Play something for me, please." She looked at him in surprise: "When did you ask me to play, before?" "I don't know," he answered frankly. "You most always play without my asking. Sing an old song, something we used to sing long ago." She went to the piano and touched to life the strains of "Kitty Clyde." And when her voice arose, he felt a lump in his throat, and he sat with his eyes shut, with a picture in his heart--an old house, a honey-suckle, a beautiful girl in white, with a rose in her hair. CHAPTER XVII. AT THE CREEK.