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o’ your own youngsters.”
    “Well, Lord knows you Clark girls made up for me in the breeding department. All four of you. As it should be. As fine-looking a covey of quails as ever I saw.”
    He turned his head and saw her gazing at him with her head tilted and a wistful smile on her lined face. He was buoyed by this rare exchange of banter, and touched by the deep, familial affection it veiled. He reached for her hand and held it. “Y’know, Lucy, this country has done right well for itself, having the Clarks.”
    She saw the wetness welling up in his eyes again, and bit the inside of her lip to keep from groaning with the richness of her emotions. It was a minute before she could speak.
    “Well, listen now, George. You’ll be coming to Locust Grove to live with us, as soon as you can be moved …”
    “Lucy, I cannot …”
    “Hush now! You should have years ago, instead of coming to this God-forsaken place. That … that …” She glanced toward his truncated leg, despite herself. “… Y’d never ’a’ hurt yourself that way had you been with us. You must come, George. You’ll always have a carriage to take you in to Louisville. And people around who … who care for you …”
    His hand squeezed feebly on hers. He was too weary to argue the point with her just now. He knew that she was right, that he would be even more helpless to sustain himself now than he had been. But it depressed him to realize it. His selection of this solitary place to live had been his last gesture of independence. In giving it up, he knew, he would become a mere ward in the fullest sense of the term. Locust Grove was a magnificent place, full of young nieces and nephews, a staff of thirty servants and workmen, a cheerful and busy place. William Croghan was an enterprising man. To visit there was always a pleasure. But to go there and move in as a dependent—why, it would be unthinkable.
    While he lay thinking of these dreary matters, the musicians concluded their serenade, and soon they were moving about andtalking low on the porch. The prevailing music outside now was that of crickets and frogs and a whippoorwill. Lucy was beginning to arch her back against weariness.
    “Eh,” he said at last. “We will discuss it soon. Now, before you go to bed, Lucy, will you please do me the favor of bringing me a moderate portion of that Jamaica rum from the pantry?” She did not answer, and, looking to see her staring at him with an edge of reproach in her eyes, he added, wincing, “The pain it’s coming on fierce now, sister.”
    “And you, who declined it when they were actually cutting.”
    “True, Lucy. But there were people watching then. Be a kind lass, now. You might just fetch me the bottle, so I won’t have to trouble you for more in the night …”
    Now there’s another thing to be considered, he thought when she was out of the room. Here I can have it whenever I please and no one’s to fret. But what fuss and cajolery there’ll be to have my daily bottle there in a house full of them who cares.
    She did not bring in the bottle, but the glass she bore was, to his pleasant surprise, brimful. She put her arm under his head and raised him to help him sip it. For her sake, he drank it with a seemly delicacy instead of tossing it down. She lowered his head to the pillow and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at him with canny eyes, again with that thoughtful tilt to the head. Lying with hands folded on his chest and the warmth of the rum spreading through him, he studied her aspect, and finally said, “Now, then, sister. Out with it.”
    “Oh, something you said. Tell me, George, as a hero: How much of bravery is just a matter of knowing you’re watched?”
    He slowly worked his lips into a wry smile. He was delighted and intrigued by her question. “Why, I would reckon, sister,” he said with deliberation, “at least a half.” He was quiet for a minute, then he went on: “Don’t ever tell another soul. But why I