The Clendenin household were early astir on the morning succeeding the events related in the former chapter. Before the sun had peeped above the mountain tops they were summoned to a savory and substantial breakfast, prepared by old Vashti, who had been cook in the family since Kenneth's earliest recollection. He was the first to answer the call; coming in from a farewell tramp about the premises, to find the faithful old creature in the act of setting the last dish upon the table. "I'se done my bes', honey," she said to him, with tears in her eyes. "It mos' breaks dis ole heart to tink you won't eat no mo' dis chile's cookin'." "I don't know that, Aunt Vashti," he responded, smiling, "I'm not going quite out of the world." "'Pears mighty like it, honey," she said; then seeing his eyes wandering uneasily about the room and the porch beyond, "You's lookin' for ole marster?" she whispered, coming close to his side. "He was off to de woods wid his gun 'fore daylight. 'Spect he didn't want to say good-by." "Probably," he answered, with a slight sigh; then turned with an affectionate greeting to his mother and Marian, who entered the room at that instant. They sat down at once to their repast, without the husband and father, no one remarking upon his absence, or asking any questions in regard to it; the meal was, indeed, almost a silent one; the hearts were too full for much speech. Kenneth's saddle-bags and portmanteau were in readiness, packed by the mother's loving hands, and Romeo stood pawing at the gate. Zeb's horse, too, was there, tied to the fence near by, while its rider was eating his breakfast in the kitchen. The travelers had no time for loitering, for many miles of rough road must be passed over that day. The adieus were quickly spoken, and the windings of the road soon hid master and servant from the view of the weeping, disconsolate Marian and her sorrowful-faced mother. Kenneth's heart, too, was heavy, spite of the cheerful air he had assumed for the sake of the dear ones he was leaving behind; but Zeb seemed in fine spirits. He was young and light-hearted, had no relatives to leave, in fact loved "de doctah" better than any other human creature. And he was going to see the world, a prospect which thrilled him with delight. The sun was now shining brightly, birds sang cheerily in the trees that bordered the roadside, the morning air was fresh and exhilarating, and Zeb's spirits rose high as he cantered along at a respectful distance behind his master. A mile away from Glen Forest, as the Clendenin place was called, they came out upon a cleared place where stood a little country church in the midst of an enclosure, whose grass-covered mounds, with here and there a stone slab, proclaimed it the settlers' last resting place.