After his day of toil in Pleasant Valley, Uncle Dick Siddon sprawled at ease on the porch, smoking his pipe, and watching with mildly sentimental eyes the rosy hues of the cloud masses that crowned Stone Mountain. His mood was tranquilly amorous. The vial in his pocket was full of golden grains. Presently, he would fashion a ring. Then, heigh-ho for the parson! He smiled contentedly over his vision of the buxom Widow Brown. Her placid charms would soothe his declining years. A tempestuous passion would be unbecoming at his age. But the companionship of this gentle and agreeable woman would be both fitting and pleasant. Really, Uncle Dick mused, it was time he settled down. One should be sedate at eighty. But he sighed.
A horseman appeared over the brow of the hill. The horse traveled slowly, as if wearied by many miles. A single glance at the erect, soldierly figure made known to Uncle Dick that this was a stranger, and he watched intently. As the rider came nearer, he hesitated, then guided his mount toward the clearing. Uncle Dick perceived, of a sudden, that the left sleeve of the stranger's coat, which was pinned across the breast, was empty. At the sight, a great sadness fell on him. He guessed the identity of the horseman. His soul was filled with mourning over a shattered romance. He fairly winced as the rider drew rein before him, with a cheery, "Howdy?"
There was a curious constraint in Uncle Dick's voice, as he made hospitable answer.
"Howdy, yerse'f, Stranger? 'Light, an' come in."
"I hain't time to 'light," the traveler declared. "Jones is my name. What mout your'n be?"
Uncle Dick descended the steps, regarding the visitor intently. There was a perceptible aloofness in his manner, though no lack of courtesy.
"My name passes fer Siddon. I 'low ye hain't familiar round these-hyar parts?"
"I'm right-smart strange, I reckon," was the admission. "But I was borned forty-mile south o' here, on the Yadkin. My father owned the place Daniel Boone lived when he sickened o' this-hyar kentry, kase it wa'n't wild 'nough. I'm kin ter Boone's woman--Bryant strain--raised 'twixt this-hyar creek an' Air Bellows."
"Wall, say ye so!" Uncle Dick exclaimed, heartily. "Why, I knowed ye when ye was a boy. You-all's pap used to buy wool, an' my pap tuk me with 'im to the Boone place with 'is Spring shearin'. Thet makes we-uns some sort o' kin. Ye'd better 'light an' take a leetle breathin' spell. A drink o' my ole brandy might cheer ye. An' ye know," he concluded, with a quick hardening of his tones, "hit's customary to know a stranger's business up in these-hyar mountings."