At the first sharp ring of steel on steel one or two persons materialized in the library door, and they were speedily augmented by fresh arrivals, until the circle of bare-shouldered girls and attendant cavaliers pressed close on the area of combat. Backward and forward, warily circling with a delicate and musical clatter of engaging steel between them, went the lad in broadcloth and the boy in homespun. It was, at best, unequal, but Morgan gave the most that he had, and against a lesser skill he would have acquitted himself with credit. After a little there came a lunge, a hilt pressed to lower blade, a swift twist of a wrist, and young Wallifarro's foil flew clear of his hand and clattered to the floor. He had been cleanly disarmed. Boone drew the mask from his tousled head and shuffled his feet. That awkwardness which had been so absent from his moments of action descended upon him afresh as he awoke to the many watching eyes. Morgan held out a hand, which was diffidently received, and acknowledged frankly, "You're much the better man--but where in Heaven's name did you learn to fence like that?" The mountain boy flushed, suddenly realizing that this too was a matter included in his pledge of confidence to Victor McCalloway. "Oh," he evasively responded, "I jest kinderly picked hit up--hyar an' thar as I went along." As soon as possible after that, Boone made his escape, and it was characteristic of his close-mouthed self-containment that at Saul Fulton's cabin he said nothing as to where he had spent his Christmas eve. CHAPTER VIII On the afternoon of Christmas day, as Boone stood by the gate of Saul's rented patch, looking off across the wet bareness of the fields to the gray and shallow skyline, he was more than a little homesick for the accustomed thickness of forest and peak. He at last saw two mounted figures coming toward him, and recognized General Prince and Anne Masters. "We rode by to wish you a very merry Christmas," announced the girl, and the General added his smile and greeting. "I'm--I'm obleeged ter both of you-all," stammered Boone as Anne, leaning over, handed him a package. "I thought maybe you'd like that. It's a fruit-cake," she informed him, "I brought it because we think our cook makes it just a little bit better than anybody else." Something told Boone Wellver that the girl, despite her fine clothes and manners, was almost as shy with him as he felt toward her, and in the thought was a sort of reassurance. "Hit's right charitable-like of ye ter fotch hit ter me," he responded, slowly, and the child hastened to make a denial. "Oh, no, please don't think that. It wasn't charity at all. It was just--" But as she paused, General Prince interrupted her with a hearty laugh.