But you _are_ South?"
"Yes," I said. "At least all my friends are Southern. I was
born there."
"You have one Northern friend," said Mr. Thorold, as we rose
up to go on. He said it with meaning. I looked up and smiled.
There was a smile in his eyes, mixed with something more. I
think our compact of friendship was made and settled then and
at once.
He stretched out his hand as if for a further ratification. I
put mine in it, while he went on, "How comes it then that you
take such a view of such a question?"
There had sprung up a new tone in our intercourse, of more
familiarity, and more intimate trust. It gave infinite content
to me; and I went on to answer, telling him about my Northern
life. Drawn on, from question to question, I detailed at
length my Southern experience also, and put my new friend in
possession not only of my opinions, but of the training under
which they had been formed. My hand, I remember, remained in
his while I talked, as if he had been my brother; till he
suddenly put it down and plunged into the bushes for a bunch
of wild roses.
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