"
"And what a dear little boy!" exclaimed Miss Treadwell, looking down
at Phil. "He is named Philip--after his grandfather, I reckon?"
"After his grandfather. We have been visiting his grave, and those of
all the Frenches; and I found them haunted--by an old retainer, who
had come hither, he said, to be with his friends."
"Old Peter! I see him, now and then, keeping the lot in order. There
are few like him left, and there were never any too many. But how have
you been these many years, and where is your wife? Did you bring her
with you?"
"I buried her," returned the colonel, "a little over a year ago. She
left me little Phil."
"He must be like her," replied the lady, "and yet he resembles you."
"He has her eyes and hair," said his father. "He is a good little boy
and a lad of taste. See how he took to you at first sight! I can
always trust Phil's instincts. He is a born gentleman."
"He came of a race of gentlemen," she said. "I'm glad it is not to
die out. There are none too many left--in Clarendon. You are going to
like me, aren't you, Phil?" asked the lady.
"I like you already," replied Phil gallantly. "You are a very nice
lady. What shall I call you?"
"Call her Miss Laura, Phil--it is the Southern fashion--a happy union
of familiarity and respect. Already they come back to me, Laura--one
breathes them with the air--the gentle Southern customs. With all the
faults of the old system, Laura--it carried the seeds of decay within
itself and was doomed to perish--a few of us, at least, had a good
time.
Pages:
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46