He was the owner of a fine farm of two hundred acres, surrounded by the beautiful forest. Here he had lived ever since he could remember. It had always seemed strange to him why his mother would not live in the city. She would only go to town occasionally and always avoided company while there. She seemed very low-spirited at times, and Paul many times wondered what made her act so strange. She had given him a fine education and taught him to be a good farmer, as she thought he would be compelled personally to go to farming to save the farm, as she, a few years before the opening of our story, had mortgaged it to save her father from ruin. She had always managed to pay the interest on it in the strictest secrecy, always preserving the papers in a little drawer in the closet in the garret. She thought no one knew where it was. Paul knew nothing of what o’er-shadowed his birthplace. Happy was he at the age of twenty-one when his mother deeded him the farm, saying, “My son, I freely give this beautiful mansion and large farm to you, my only child. I know you love your mother and will take care of her as long as she lives, and when she is dead will place a plain marble stone at her grave to mark the resting place of her who gave you birth.” “Yes, mother,” answered her son. “Never will I forsake you or do aught to give you pain;” and so far he had kept his word. At this time or period in his career, time was changing with him; there was a little being stepping between him and his mother, or in other words his love was being divided between them. He dearly loved the mother who had nursed him up to manhood and freely resolved ever to do only what was just and right by her. He went to the barn to see his beautiful team of horses, a finer span of blacks there was not for miles around. They were the envy of all the boys in the country. Whenever he drove out to parties they always attracted attention and comment, and their owner was highly esteemed for his true manliness. All the girls said he was too fastidious, as none of them could please him so well as to keep him from fishing. At last all the girls of his acquaintance said he could never be suited. At last his fastidious taste was pleased. The lovely, dreamy girl he met by the lake had won his honest heart. As he cared for his horses he was deeply thinking of her whom he saw at the lake, and he mused: “I will saddle Nellie and go to town this evening by the way of Hilton’s, and perhaps I will see or hear of this city cousin, as I am very anxious to see this little lady.” Hastily throwing the saddle on his horse he brought him out of the barn, and handed the reins to his faithful old servant, who was standing near by, and went and told his mother of his intentions, omitting of course his going by the way of Hilton’s. As he came out of the house and took the horse by the bridle, Pompey said, “Where now, massa Paul, at dis time ob day.”