"I've just been joining," he laughed, "but, of course, if you can't get along without me--" he waved a hand toward his empty goblet. Uncle Zack had made provision for this--Uncle Zack, who believed that a thoroughbred gentleman should always be "jes' a li'l bit toddied up." Dale stood at the bottom step staring with the open curiosity characteristic of his kind, and convinced that he was gazing upon the most elegant gentleman in all creation. No detail of the toilette escaped his minute scrutiny--from the white buckskin shoes to the white cravat, from the immaculate linen to the flashing teeth; and for a second time that day his eyes lowered to pass slowly over the crudeness of his own attire. The Colonel saw this and smiled, but it was not a mirthful smile. His former interest had become quickened by this helpless and pathetic look, and mentally he strengthened a previous resolution. "Brent," he said, "I want you to know Dale Dawson! Mr. McElroy," he turned to the still staring mountaineer, "is staying with me, and making a survey for the railroad we hope to see running through here before long, sir." "I hain't never seed a train but onct," Dale exclaimed, shaking hands with more open admiration. "Then hit 'most scared the gizzard outen me! How do ye make 'em?" "Oh," Brent laughed, "screws, and nuts, and hammers, and things. But I don't make trains, old fellow; I'm just making the survey!" "Good-bye everybody!" Bob gurgled, swinging into the saddle. The Colonel called him sternly back. "Now, Bob," he whispered, stepping out to the tanbark drive, "you've no right to leave me like this, sir. I can't put up with it, I tell you! Why, God bless my soul, the fellow hasn't a rag except what's on his back! Must I ask him to sleep in the stable, sir? Those mountain people are sensitive to the very core, you know that, and his feelings would be immeasurably hurt if he suspected I complain of his clothes. But, Bob, it's impossible! You're both of a size; help an old man out--there's a good fellow!" "I'll do anything but stay here and disgrace myself," Bob assured him. "Tactfully, sir, tactfully," the Colonel warned. "Trust me to do it tactfully," Bob whispered. "I'm not out to get shot." And turning to the porch he called: "Dale, like to ride over and meet my family? You might get a word with Miss Jane about the school, too!" There was no reply to this except a quick step toward the old white mare. "Will hit be all right ter leave my rifle hyar, Cunnel?" he asked, with one foot in the stirrup. "Certainly, sir," that gentleman gave cheery acquiescence. "But take my horse. Your own seems tired." "Yourn _air_ faster," he nodded, passing unnoticed Lucy's invitation to be caressed and rising into the Colonel's saddle. There was something pathetic in the wistful way she looked after him, whinnying twice or three times in a sudden panic of apprehension. The old gentleman stroked her nose, murmuring: