“Where's Landray's mill?” the latter now demanded, the glint of anger slowly fading from his eyes. “See that clump of willows down yonder, to the right of the road? It's just back of them.” “Who's running it?” “Old General Landray's sons, Bush and Steve,” he spoke of them with easy familiarity. “I see you know them,” said the stranger. “It'd be funny if I didn't,—everybody knows 'em.” “I reckon so,” said the stranger briefly. “I allow you knowed the general?” remarked Mr. Bartlett. “I recollect him well enough.” “He was right smart of a man in his day, and one of the old original first settlers. I knowed him well myself,” observed Mr. Bartlett. “Powerful easy man to get acquainted with; awful familiar, wa'n'. he?” and the stranger grinned evilly. “Well, I knowed him when I seen him,” said Mr. Bartlett, with some reserve; and he seemed willing to abandon the subject. “What you laughing at?” he added quickly, for the stranger was chuckling softly to himself. “Oh, nothing much. Did you know him after he was took with the gout? You're sort of fat; say now, did he ever cuss you for getting in his way? It's likely that's what brought you to his notice,” and he exploded in a burst of harsh laughter. “Oh, yes, I reckon you knowed him well—when you seen him.” This singular assault on his innocent pretensions had a marked and chilling effect on the driver. He edged away from the stranger, and there was a long pause; but silence was not to be where Mr. Bartlett was concerned. He now asked, pointing to the sleeping child, “Ain't you going to wake him up? He'll feel as if he'd missed something.” “I guess he'll have a chance to see all there is to see when we get there. He's clean tired out. You say the Landray boys have the mill? The old general used to own a distillery across the race from it; what became of that?” “It's there yet; Levi Tucker has it now. He's got the tavern, too, and I don't suppose he'd care to part with either. He's his own best customer; Colonel Sharp says he's producer and consumer both; I allow you didn't know the colonel?” Again the stranger shook his head, and the driver's placid voice just pitched to carry above the rattle of wheels and the beat of hoofs, droned on, a colourless monotone of sound.