“Yes, an' I got news fer you, Nelson--substantial news. Henry A. Floyd is yore own uncle.” “Good God, Pole!”--Floyd sat up in bed--“don't make any mistakes. You say he is actually--” “I ain't makin' no mistakes,” replied Pole. “He's the only brother of yore daddy, Charles Nelson Floyd. That old cuss told me so, an' I know he was tellin' me a straight tale.” There was silence. Floyd pulled his feet from beneath the coverings and sat up on the bedside. He seemed unable to speak, and, leaning forward in his chair, the ex-moonshiner recounted in careful detail all that had passed between him and the man he had visited. For several minutes after Pole had concluded the merchant sat without visible movement, then Pole heard him take a long, deep breath. “Well, I hope you are satisfied with what I done,” said Pole, tentatively. “Satisfied! Great Heavens!” cried Floyd,' “I simply don't know what to say to it--how to tell you what I feel. Pole, I'll bet I'm having the oddest experience that ever came to mortal man. I don't know how to explain it, or make you understand. When a baby's born it's too young to wonder or reflect over its advent into the world, but to-night, after all my years of life, I feel--Pole, I feel somehow as if I were suddenly born again. That dark spot on my history has been in my mind almost night and day ever since I was old enough to compare myself to others. Persons who have strong physical defects are often morbidly sensitive over them. That flaw in my life was my eternally sore point. And my mother”--Floyd's voice sank reverently--“did he say who she was?” “No, we didn't git fur enough,” Pole returned. “You see, Nelson, I got that information by pretendin' to be sorter indifferent about you, an' ef I'd 'a' axed too many questions, the old codger 'ud 'a' suspicioned my game. Besides, as I told you, he wasn't willin' to talk perfectly free. Although yore daddy's in the grave, the old man seems to still bear a sort o' grudge agin 'im, an' that, in my opinion, accounts fer him not helpin' you out when you was a child.” “Ah, I see,” said Floyd; “my father was wild as a young man?” “Yes, that's the way he put it,” answered Baker; “but I wouldn't let that bother me, Nelson. Ef yore daddy'd 'a' lived longer, no doubt, he'd 'a' settled down like you have. But he passed away in a good cause. It ort to be a comfort to know he died in battle.” “Yes, that's a comfort,” said Floyd, thoughtfully. “An' now you've got plenty o' kin,” Pole said, with a pleasant laugh. “I come over in the hack with Colonel Price and Captain Duncan, an' you ort to 'a' heard 'em both spout about the Floyds an' the Nelsons. They say yore blood's as blue as indigo, my boy, an' that they suspected it all along, on account o' yore pluck and determination to win in ever' game you tackled. Lord, you bet they'll be round to-morrow to give you the hand o' good-fellowship an' welcome you into high life. I reckon you'll sorter cut yore mountain scrub friends.”