“That ol’ feller come down to the store one mornin’ an’ him an’ Tip had a fight, an’ Tip got licked. The Colonel an’ Seth Mussey had come in a buggy, an’ they was goin’ on from Tip’s to the county seat to see the editor of the paper. It was all about that safe blowin’ case, an’ the Colonel accused Tip of start’n all the talk about ’im. Bill Wirrick an’ me got a rig an’ went to the county seat, fer we thought the Colonel was goin’ to lick the editor ag’in an’ we wanted to see the fun, but the editor was out of town. The Colonel went up to see the ol’ maid an’ they was married the next day. I guess she had some money, fer they took the cars an’ said they was goin’ down south. “The Colonel went to the postmaster an’ told ’im to tell the editor, w’en ’e got home, that if ’e ever put the Colonel’s name in ’is paper ag’in, er any name that sounded like his, he’d kill ’im, an’ I guess the editor b’lieved it, fer ’e didn’t mention nothin’ about the wedd’n w’en ’e got back. “People don’t think the Colonel blowed open that safe after all. He never flashed no wealth around afterwards, and the way he beat up that editor fer sayin’ things about ’im, sort a squared ’im up.” We erected our little tent, and Rat busied himself with collecting fuel. He attacked a long hollow log with his axe. When it was split open we found an old gray coat, that had at some time been stuffed into the decayed interior. We laid the coat out on the ground and Rat extracted a discolored brass key from one of the pockets, and a wad of hairy material, that proved to be a set of false chin whiskers. In a damaged manilla envelope, that we found in an inside pocket, was a certificate of the honorable discharge of Jasper Montgomery Peets, as a private in the Confederate Army. The mildewed relics, with their eloquent though silent story, were convincing. “I s’spose ’e thought that gray coat was gitt’n too pop’lar with possees, an’ ’e concluded to shed it,” remarked Rat. “Say, wasn’t that feller a peach?” I agreed that he was. I sat for a long time on the sloping bank of the islet, and mused over the soul mates that, like migrating songsters, had winged their way to the balmy southland when the leaves had fallen, and the skies had become gray. I thought of Anastasia’s hungry heart, and the precarious resting place it had found. The Colonel’s “plot” had certainly been woven to a consistent end; the “mystehious veiled lady” had glided into its web, and there was a wedding on the last page. IX HIS UNLUCKY STAR I had stopped on the old bridge in the twilight to look upon the glories of a dreamy afterglow, and the gnarled tree forms that were etched against its symphony of color far away down the river. Just above the bands of purple and orange the evening star was coming out of a sea of turquoise, and its radiance was creeping into the waters below the trees. I heard a light foot fall behind me.