Andrew the Glad

"Well, Andy boy, you're in from the fields, I see. How's the farm? Every

thing shipshape?" As he spoke the major shot a keen glance from under his

beetling old brows at the pair and wisely let the situation develop

itself.

Andrew answered his salutation promptly, then turned an amused glance

on the girl at his side.

"He isn't going to introduce us," she laughed with a friendly little look

up into his face. "I ought to have done it myself when you did, but I was

so astonished--and relieved to find you. I'm Caroline Darrah Brown."

The words were low and laughing and warm with a sweet friendliness, but

they crashed through the room like the breath of a swarm of furies.

Andrew Sevier's face went white and drawn on the instant, and every

muscle in his body stiffened to a tense rigidity. His dark eyes narrowed

themselves to slits and glowed like the coals.

The major's very blood stopped in his veins and his fine old face looked

drawn and gray as he stretched out his hand and laid it on Caroline's

young shoulder. Not a word came to his lips as he looked in Andrew's

face and waited.

And as he waited a wondrous thing and piercing sweet unfolded itself

under his keen old eyes and sank like a balm into his wise old heart.

From the two deep purple pools of womanhood that were raised to his, shy

with homage of him and unconscious of their own tender reverencing,

Andrew Sevier drew a deep draught into his very soul. Slowly the color

mounted into his face, his eyes opened themselves and a wonderful smile

curled his lips. He held out his hand and took her slender fingers into a

strong clasp and held them for a long moment. Then with a smile at the

major, which was a mixture of dignity tinged with an infinite sadness, he

bent over and gently kissed the white hand as he let it go. The little

ceremony had more chivalry than she understood.

"Its part of our ritual of welcome I'm claiming," he said lightly as she

blushed rose pink and the divine shyness deepened in her eyes. She again

buried her face in the berries.

Then with a proud look into Andrew's face the major laid his hand on the

young man's bandaged arm and bent and raised Caroline's hand to his lips.

"It's a ritual, my dear," he said, "that I'm honored in observing with

him. Friendship these days has need of rituals of ratification and the

pomp of ceremonials to give it color. There's danger of its becoming

prosaic. Jefferson, turn on the lights."