Chapter XIV: September 28 (1)

To-day's mail brought me a most agitating letter from dear C. She wrote from the hospital, where she was to be operated upon for appendicitis that day. She begged me if possible to go at once and take charge of her household and three little boys until her return. It seems almost impossible to leave just now—but I have determined to drop everything and go. I feel very anxious, for her letter took a long time to reach me.

UNITA, September 30.

Left Peaceville yesterday at 3 P.M. and reached this flourishing town at 12 to-day. The boys are splendid fellows, aged eight, seven, and four years, full of life and fun and chatter; it is a great contrast to the silent home I left.

On the journey up I had two hours in Columbia, which I spent with B. I was very pleased to find that W., her ten-year-old son, had recovered from the effects of the great shock he had when I was there in June.

All the children were at a large picnic on the outskirts of the city in a very pretty spot with a stream running through which opened out into a small lake in one spot. There W. was playing with a comrade of his own age, to whom he was devoted. They were wading in what seemed a sheet of shallow water and were throwing up a lemon as a ball, each trying to catch it.

Suddenly as the friend leaped to catch the ball he sank from sight in unsuspected deep water. W. saw him rise and sprang after in an involuntary impulse to save him. He too disappeared. Both rose, then sank again, W.'s second sinking being the friend's third, his arms being clasped around W.'s waist.

About 300 yards away a young matron who had brought her four children to the picnic, one being quite a baby still, heard the cry and started toward the pool at a run. She reached the water as W. rose for the third time. Though panting from the run she sprang in where she saw him sink, and after what seemed to the onlookers an age she appeared holding W. by the collar, and slowly and painfully dragged him to the shallow water. A lady seeing she was nearly spent, waded in waist deep and helped her bring him to the shore, and said:—

"Come out, you are exhausted."

"No, no!" Mrs. M. answered. "There is another, I must go back for him," and she turned again to the deep water.

But every one saw that she could not possibly go down again, and she was pulled gently to the shore and placed in an automobile and taken home.

It was a most heroic action for that frail young woman, exhausted from the run, to plunge in with clothes and shoes on. I asked B. to take me to call on her and that visit will always remain in my memory as a beautiful picture. She was sitting on the vine-covered porch at her sewing-machine, while the children played around. She did not wish to speak of the tragedy and talked of lighter things.

She told us she had grown up on a plantation near Beaufort, and she had only consented to come to the city on condition that her home should be on the outskirts, where she could have large grounds with flower and vegetable garden and keep a cow, a small farm in fact, and her present home gave her all the country occupations and pleasures, while her children could reach the city schools easily. I had gone for the purpose of expressing my gratitude and admiration for her presence of mind and heroism, so before we left I spoke of the tragedy. Her lovely face went white at once, and she said:—

"Oh, but the other boy! If only I could have got him too! I think of that other mother always."

My very heart was stirred by the heroism of the whole thing, and the mercy of the rescue of my dear great-nephew and the terrible tragedy of his companion's death. Altogether my admiration and reverence was excited for all the actors in the drama, Mrs. M., and my great-nephew, who had tried to save his comrade, but Mrs. M. above all;—just a flash of tragedy, heroism, and nobility out of the clear sky, when often life looks so commonplace.

October 4.

It is a wonder to me how I can cast away all thought of things at home so completely, specially the pea-vine hay, which had become a kind of fetish with me, but truth to say, my time and thoughts are so fully occupied that I have no chance to dwell on anything outside of these four walls. It is time for the incubator to hatch and I find myself in spite of active occupations wondering as to how Chloe and Patty are getting on. Neither of them seemed able to make out the thermometer, so that my kind friend Mrs. S. had promised to go in once a day and look at it. It will be a wonder if any chickens hatch under the circumstances.

This is a lovely place, a charmingly comfortable house and so surrounded by trees that I can forget I am in a city and only feel the comfort of having the butcher and baker and every one else you want, call at your door. I certainly can appreciate that part of city life.

"Seven" and "Eight" go to school and the excitement of getting them off in the morning is intense. They have a long walk, entirely across the town, and there are many snares and pitfalls in the shape of circus pictures on the way, so that it is necessary to give them ample time to get there before the bell rings.

"Four" stays at home and is my constant companion. If he were not a fascinating child it would be very trying, but besides being strong, healthy, and handsome he is perfectly obedient and very original. I was sitting on the porch sewing and he was playing with my trunk strap, greatly to the injury of the strap, twisting it around a tree. I told him to stop, which he did at once, and with the greatest agility, to use his own word, he "skinned" up the tree. He went up until he was on a level with the second story windows and then began to discourse.

"Aunt Patience, did you see how quick I minded you, an' stopped doing what you tol' me not to do?"

"Yes," I answered, "and I was greatly pleased."

"Well," he went on, "I did that because if you do what grown-up people tell you not to do, God don't like it, an' he'll surely make you stump your toe."

I could not help laughing, it was so funny, his little bare feet are so battered and bruised by stones and roots; but he got very angry, and let go his hold on the limb on which he sat, to gesticulate fiercely as he went on.

"That ain't nothin' to laugh at, its puffectly true! An' if you're a grown man an' won't mind Him an' do wrong, He might make you break your neck, but if you're a boy, he'll only jes' make you stump your toe."

I was so afraid that in the earnestness of his gesticulations he would fall from the high limb that I became solemn at once and said how pleased I was that he was so wise and realized that evil doing always brought its own punishment. At the same time I begged him to hold on, as it was necessary to take proper precautions not to get hurt as well as to do what was right. As "Seven" fell from that same limb and split his tongue two days before I arrived, I was truly thankful when the little preacher got down safe and sound.

The last time the boys stayed with me at Cherokee Chloe nicknamed them the doctor, the lawyer, and the preacher, and the names seem to suit. I was walking with "Eight," the doctor, yesterday afternoon and as we flew along, for I walk fast, he threw his arms out and exclaimed:—

"Oh, I just wish I had all the money in the world."

I was quite shocked. "Oh, my dear boy, what makes you wish for money? You have everything you want."

He answered: "Didn't you see that poor old daddy, all ragged and dirty? He has an awful foot, I saw it, and I gave him a dime the other day, but if I had all the money, I'd load up my pockets with big bills and as I went along the streets and I saw him, I'd just slip a fifty-dollar bill out of my pocket and into his hand and say, 'Shut your hand quick, old uncle, here's fifty dollars; go get your leg cured and buy all you want.' And then I'd run on quick before he knew who it was. And you see that poor, thin, pale-faced little girl coming out of the factory? I'd do the same to her, and walking just as fast as we are now I'd just give everybody that looked needing it, a good big bill! Now wouldn't that be jolly? And wouldn't I be happy!"

I told him if he ever wanted to do that he would have to work hard at his arithmetic, over which he has so much trouble, for there was no chance of ever making headway in the world without conquering that—which seemed to put arithmetic in a new light to him.

But I really was very pleased to see in the boy that love of humanity which made him wish to relieve suffering, though only in imagination, instead of dreaming of autos and other grandeurs for himself. "Il chasse de race." But we certainly understand spending money better than we do making it, which is a pity and made me point out to him that money had to be made before it could be given away, and that money was made by arithmetic, so to speak, rather than by dreaming.

October 20.

I have got on beautifully with the boys and am so happy to know them well. I have had many trials of strength with them, but I never give in. The "doctor" came in from school the other day and threw his arms around me and said:—

"You are just the sweetest aunt in the world!"

I said, "What does this mean?" laughingly, for we had had a mighty tussle that morning over his arithmetic.

He went on as if not hearing me: "I just get praised in school all the time, since you have been here."

I thought it was the most magnanimous thing, for I had been very severe on him in the battle over the arithmetic. I really think the mental arithmetic is quite too hard for a boy of eight, it requires such an effort and so much concentration; but as the lesson is given him, he must put his mind on it and learn it.

The analysis is more puzzling than the questions themselves, and he fights it, and I don't wonder, but as the lesson is given it is his duty to learn it, and I make him shut his eyes and concentrate his mind; and I thought it was wonderful that having felt the good result in praise he should wish to pass it on to me. Oh, the joy of having first class material to work upon!

CHEROKEE, November 10.

A perfectly exquisite day. I reached Gregory last night and spent the night by invitation at Woodstock. I had written for Gibbie to meet me there at noon, and he arrived punctually. I rested the horses about half an hour and then started back. The horses looked jaded and I let them walk, as it was intense enjoyment to feel the soft balmy air on my cheeks and to study the variety of lovely wild flowers which autumn brings, as we went through the pine woods, following the rough and winding short cut to the ferry.

I asked Gibbie questions, to which he gave the most prolonged and elaborate answers. I am sure he had composed and arranged them all as he drove down. He told me every item of home news; everything rose color; potatoes dug and very fine, "about t'ree hundred bushil." "Great crop of hay," he having saved it all. More peas than I "could 'stroy." He spoke of Bonaparte altogether as "the Cap'en," which showed me they were on good terms, a most unusual thing. All the cows in fine condition, he reported, but when I asked about Heart, the Guernsey heifer I was so anxious to raise, he said a sad accident happened and she was dead.

After we crossed the ferry the horses looked so downhearted that I asked if Ruth had had any holiday. No, he said, Ruth had been driven every day; but Romola had done nothing since I left home.

"What," I said, "not been in harness since September 20?"

"No, ma'am, just been out in de fiel' de eat grass."

"Mercy on us," I cried, "and you brought her on this twenty-six mile drive to-day?"

"Needn't to fret, ma'am, Uncle Bonapa'te feed um well, he give um twenty-eight year o' co'n jes' fo' we sta'at dis mo'ning."

I began at once to feel anxious about Romola and drove slower and slower. She would turn and bite at her side from time to time and travelled with her head down. Finally when we were five miles from home she threw herself violently down. Romola is such a good creature; she managed not to break a strap of the harness, nor the pole, only she nearly toppled Ruth over, but by falling against her she saved the pole.

I sprang out and had the harness taken off quickly and got her up and led her out of the road into a grassy place in the woods just in time, for she threw herself down again, rolling over and over and groaning and tossing herself about—a genuine case of colic.

First I told Gibbie to run home and bring Nana as quickly as he could. Then I considered that it must take at least two hours, even if he ran, which I knew he would not do, and to be left on the highway alone, the buckboard loaded with my possessions, with a sick horse, would be a trying ordeal for me and would really be tempting Providence in the way of tramps, so I said:—

"No, don't go yet a while; perhaps some one will come whom I can send."

In about half an hour a neighbor passed and offered to help me, so I asked him if when he passed Cherokee he would drive in, and tell Bonaparte to bring Nana in the old buckboard and to tell Chloe to send by him the horse physic from behind the dogs on the mantelpiece in the dining-room. He seemed very glad to do it and I felt relieved, knowing I would not have to spend the night on the road. I always keep a bottle of aconite behind a very beautiful pair of bronze hounds by Isidore Bonheur and Chloe knows just where to find it, for I have kept it there for years.

Romola continued in great distress. I had a bottle of almond oil with extract of violet in my valise which I fortunately thought of. I got it out and told Gibbie to rub her, but finding that he didn't seem to know how to rub, I just took it myself and rubbed her well. I had to be quick in getting out of the way when she flopped over or I would have got mashed; but I stood behind her and, leaning over, put my whole weight on my hands.

As the sun was dropping below the horizon in the west she got up and shook herself. I led her about a little and felt sure the attack was over, so I told Gibbie to harness and put her in. He had been kept busy by Ruth, who as feeding time approached was eager to break away and get to her stable. We moved off slowly, and in half a mile we met Bonaparte with Nana and the other buckboard and he took the trunk. I gave Romola a dose of aconite and she plucked up a little spirit; but she did not pull, she simply walked beside Ruth, who took the whole load.

It was after dark when we reached the house. I gave her three quarts of hot water with soda in it and another spoonful of aconite. I was truly thankful when I finally dragged my weary limbs up the front steps and found a bright fire, nice supper, Chloe, Don, and home.

Sunday, November 11.

My blessed mother's birthday. I am too stiff and ill to attempt to go down with flowers to her resting-place as I usually do; a great disappointment. Bonaparte asked for a private interview, so I went to one end of the piazza, though there was no one within hearing. He told me after a long and mysterious preamble that he was engaged to be married.

I was distressed when I heard he had selected a comparatively young woman from Gregory. When I expressed my anxiety, saying a woman from the country would suit him better, he said that when I saw Jane I would have no objection to make, as she bore a fine character with white as well as black. Of course I can do nothing now but give him my good wishes.

Two or three months ago when I saw his restless, miserable frame of mind, I knew he was thinking of replacing his good, faithful wife and I tried to help him. After a careful survey of the matrimonial field, I concluded that good little Jinny would be the best person for him. She is an industrious, smart woman, who had been a faithful wife and mother and is now a widow. One day I said to him that whenever the time came that he felt he needed a companion I thought Jinny Robinson would make him an excellent helpmate. To my surprise he answered quickly, "Jinny too old for me, Miss Pashuns."

She is twenty years younger than he is. My mother was always appealed to for advice and suggestion by those left desolate, and I never knew an instance when her selection was rejected or the match turned out badly, so I was quite unprepared for this rebuff.

Jinny lives on her own farm and all her children are married, so that she would have suited him well.

Nat came up from Casa Bianca to tell me my fine yearling steer Knox was dead. He was perfectly well apparently when Jim went down there last week. It always is a trial to talk to a negro in such cases. I asked of course what ailed the steer. Nat scratched his head violently and answered:—

"Miss, 'e time cum, I t'ink. W'en we time cum we 'bleeged to go. De black steer time cum en I cudn't keep um; en beside dat 'e had de hollow tail."

Of course I retreated from the effort to find out anything, but I told him he must bring the rest of the cattle up here. The pasture being very fine down there, I leave the cows there in summer, but as soon as the corn-fields are open here I bring them back where I can look after them during the winter.

CHEROKEE, November 12.

Great activity prevails in this household; I am moved to brush up my dear old home a little, so I have bought some kalsomine, and every minute which can be spared from getting in the hay Jim is kalsomining. He has finished the breakfast room, which was a disgrace, and then he finished the upstairs hall, and is now engaged on the lower hall.

The dear departed peacock, whose mate was eaten up by a fox while sitting on a nest of beautiful eggs, lived three years in a state of single misery, during which time he broke every pane of glass in the windows he could reach. It was so pathetic that I could not give way to wrath and have him beaten away. He was looking for that lovely mate, with her graceful long neck and dainty small head, and seemed to think she was imprisoned in the house, for he roamed round and round it, first on one shed and then on another, and when, peering in through the window glass, he caught sight of his own iridescent form, he would plunge forward in an ecstasy of joy, break the glass, cut his poor, proud head and hastily fly away, only to begin the search again as soon as his wounds were healed. In this way the windows were broken one by one, and the dirt daubers (a very busy flying thing that looks exactly like a wasp, but does not sting) came in and made their wonderful clay houses in the halls, so that it looked like some old, deserted, haunted place.

It was impossible to get all the glass put back. The hall window has a pointed arched top like a church window, and that shape of glass I could not get, so I just felt helpless and hopeless while the little workers in clay triumphed over me. When, however, the hall window was covered with fine bronze wire on the outside from top to bottom these little wonders of industry and perseverance were foiled.

It was funny to watch them when they first reached the window loaded down with red clay and flew up against the wire. They could not believe that that pygmy man whom they had got the better of for years had really foiled them at last. For days and weeks they continued the attack and many, many perished in their determined efforts to squeeze through openings too small for them.

But to return to the peacock and his search for his lost love. He reminded me of that tragic scene in Gluck's "Orpheus and Eurydice" when he dares to enter the vast terrible kingdom of the dead in his search for his beloved—the eager, pathetic gaze into the lifeless face of each veiled form, the joy of imagined recognition, only to fade into disappointment and horror as returning life shows the mistaken identity. The peacock grew thinner and thinner. Occasionally he would go into the busy poultry yard and spread out his beautiful fan and salaam to the white Leghorn hens and win their cackling admiration, but those exhibitions became rarer each year, and finally he disappeared. I am quite sure he sought the solitude of the forest to die.

I miss him all the time in spite of his mischievous activity, for he was a part of the place. I tried very hard to get a mate for him, but never found one. In the years gone by peafowl were very common through this country. We used to call it our episcopal dish, for every year when the Bishop of the diocese stayed with us on his visit to the parish, mamma had a roast peacock as part of the dinner. The breast is very large, like that of a partridge, and of a very delicate game flavor.

Since the clay workers can be kept out it seems worth while to destroy all traces of them and have the wall white and fair once more. As the work progresses and the air of desolation is subdued my spirits rise, and I wonder how I have stood it so long. It is well there is something to cheer my spirits, for the financial outlook is appalling.

The storm-tossed crop is hopeless, the corn all damaged; in the little that there is, not a perfect ear.

November 14.

Great rejoicing! To-day's mail brought a letter from J. L. H. saying she would be here Monday. Day spent in trying to get the house in winter trim, for it is very cold. Got down most of the carpets and rugs, but could not get the curtains up. They are all sewed up in homespun bags in the spring with camphor or moth balls, and it really is a day's work to get them all out and beaten and aired.

November 15.

A tremendous day. Took my dearest J. down to Gregory and then to Woodstock, where it was so pleasant that I lingered too long. I had had a great deal of business to see about in Gregory, so that we were late getting in to Woodstock. I had fortunately bought a lantern and I needed it very soon after leaving Woodstock, the road being very winding and intricate for the first three miles.

At the ferry the man called to me to drive in quickly, as there was a tug coming down the river bringing him a new flat, and he must get me over as quickly as possible to return and change flats. Goliah, who had gone behind on the buckboard with me, was much excited and added all his strength to the two men in pulling the flat over. When we got about halfway over Moses, the ferryman, saw that the tug was coming down rapidly upon the wire. He called to the captain, a negro, to stop. This did no good at all. On, on, came the snorting tug like a relentless fate.

It was a dreadful situation, for I feared Ruth would turn her head, and then I knew she would jump out of the flat. Fortunately I had driven her hard and she was thankful to be quiet. While I was wondering that Ruth was so quiet something happened, I did not know what.

The four men and Goliah, who were pulling, were thrown to the floor of the flat, Ruth was nearly thrown flat, and the steel rope with which the flat was pulled lashed round the buckboard's wheels, fortunately not reaching the mare. I was thrown out on the wheel and before I had righted myself Goliah picked himself up and flew to Ruth's head, which I thought a wonderful evidence of fidelity to a responsibility, and it was lucky that he did so, for as soon as she realized that we were out of our course and not making for shore, Ruth became very restless and impatient.

Moses yelled to the man nearest the broken end of the rope to seize it, which he did, and that was a mercy, for if it had escaped we would have drifted down the river without any means of regulating or guiding our course. Then the men all pulled together on the rope and ran the flat up into the bushes about 200 feet from the slip where the flat lands.

It was quite dark, only two lanterns being in the flat, mine and the one the ferryman had. After tremendous effort they got the flat to touch the slip at one end, leaving about four feet of water at the other. I saw that was the best they could do and that it could only stay so for one second, so I called, "Hold it so for a minute." I told Goliah to let go Ruth's head and spoke to her, and as she hesitated gave her a sharp cut with the whip. She leaped out over the gap and we were safe on land.

I drove home too thankful for words for the great escape. Just the thought that we might have been swirling round, drifting down toward the sea with the current, made the drive home seem a delight. When I went to get out of the buckboard, however, I found I was a rag and could scarcely stand.

November 17.

Went out immediately after breakfast and saw Gibbie put half a bushel of cow-peas in the big pot, fill it with water, and make the fire under it to boil food for cows. Then I told him to start ploughing in the half acre of oats. Bonaparte had already scattered the seed. Later in the day I walked down to the field to see the work, and found Gibbie had not done a stroke, had simply gone home, leaving the oats on the earth for the birds to devour. I was too angry to go in pursuit of him. I find it very unwise to speak until I have cooled off. As Bonaparte said to me once, "Ef you don't tek keer dese peeple'll mek yu los yo' soul."

The corn has been so stolen that there is scarcely a fifth of a crop—all the big ears gone, leaving only nubbins. The horses are all weak from lack of food and I feel desperate. Even Goliah is changed! All the joy and fun and play seem to have left him, and his fat little black face looks like a thunder-cloud.

His household at home are urging him to demand more wages, and he does not wish to do it, and yet the clamor there makes him discontented. I brought him a suit of clothes and a pair of shoes, in which complete outfit he sleeps. The weather being very mild, I beg him to save the shoes for cold weather, as he has never worn shoes before; but in vain, unless I put them up for him, which I do not wish to do, for I wish him to have the full enjoyment of them. He found an old pair of white kid gloves in the buckboard. I had used them to wear about the place and somehow left them there. Yesterday he asked me for them and now he wears them all the time—cutting wood, eating dinner.

I tried to translate in concise and striking words the French proverb, "Chat ganté n'attrape point de souris," but it had no effect; he sits gazing at his shoes, his white-gloved hands folded in his lap. I have sent him to school, as the public school is only half a mile away, and there is a good teacher, but nothing can restore the little gay Goliah, who jigged as he walked.

He has eaten of the apple and been driven out from the Eden of childhood and from henceforth will always be wondering how much he can get out of me. I knew it had to come, but I am so sorry, and I miss the little boy so much.

Sunday, November 20.

Our rector's Sunday with us. He gave a very interesting sketch of the church convention, which he had attended. I had to play the organ as well as do all the singing, as Miss Penelope was not able to come. I thought it was impossible, but really nothing is impossible, for when I got home feeling like a rag I found Zadok waiting for me—"to ask my advice," he said.

I had not laid eyes on him for years, but he is the son of a faithful servant and was born in our servants' hall just before the end of the war. He has prospered, married well, and has a large family, who all help in the cultivation of his farm of twenty acres. Now that he has got into trouble he comes at once to me.

His great snare is the dreadful firewater. He told me he had got into "a tangle." Coming back from Gregory one day when he was "not quite himself" he had been accused of cursing and making a disturbance. He had been notified that he would be indicted, and when he went to remonstrate the man said if he paid $25 he would drop the case; but he had put off and put off, and now hears the case is to be tried to-morrow.

I made him tell me everything and felt sure the only thing for him to do is to pay the money as quickly as he can, for if the trial comes off it will go hard with him. He is known as very obstreperous and noisy when under the influence of liquor, though peaceable and civil otherwise; so I told him to get the money as quickly as he could and try to pay it before the trial came up. I was greatly worried about it and had Jim put Alcyone in the small buckboard and drive me down to Mr. B.'s. I took a very pretty apple geranium as an offering to his wife.

I told them I had come to see what I could do to help Zadok, that I was much distressed to hear he had misbehaved, that his father had been our trusted and faithful servant during the war when there was no man at home, and I begged them if he promised to pay the $25 to drop the case. Mr. B. said he thought it had now gone beyond his power to drop it, but he would try what could be done. On the way home I met Zadok in his buggy, which is a very nice one, driving his horse, which is a very good one. I told him I had done all I could and begged him to make a humble apology. He said he would and seemed much impressed.

Little Alcyone is a swift little filly and went splendidly, but she is not large enough to take two people in a buckboard that drive of sixteen miles at the pace she likes to go. It is an unwise thing to let her do it. She should have a light road cart only, for she will not walk at all. I really felt when I got home as though I had been actively employed from the time of Noah and the flood. Zadok promised me to stop drinking. God help him to keep his promise!

CHEROKEE, November 27.

Before I started out this morning I called for Bonaparte and showed him a large portfolio of engravings and prints and told him to make a light wooden frame into which I could slip it to send by express. I specially told him to leave one end open so that I could put the portfolio in myself. When I got back from Casa Bianca this evening I found the very neat little light frame and was delighted, until I found the portfolio was nailed up in it so securely that I would have had to break the frame to get it out. It was too provoking, for I had not meant by any means to send all its contents.

The time for the payment of taxes has come. Mine are over $100 and my little cotton crop cannot cover them after paying my yearly accounts, so I must sell something, and I decided to send some of the things in the portfolio on to New York to be sold. There are a lot of queer old things in it which many would call rubbish, but which I delight in—a map of the city of Charleston in its veriest infancy and engravings of a horse and dog which had won beautiful silver prizes in 1760 or thereabouts. These things are of great interest in the family and especially to me, who live in the past so much.

Then there were some water colors I wanted to keep. Altogether this seems the last straw to a very tired camel. Bonaparte had gone home, it was late Saturday evening, and Jim is to take the box down to Gregory when he goes to-morrow to send off by express Monday, and I just gave up and let them all go. The eternal struggle against contrarieties and difficulties is too much for me.

The time for tax paying has nearly passed and if I do not send the things off to-morrow they will have to wait another week.

December 7.

The pace has been most rapid for some time and I find that when I have pleasant companionship I neglect my faithful dumb confidant.

Bonaparte's wedding preparations have caused me much anxiety. I promised him some money for the occasion and sold two of my precious young heifers to be sure to have it, but there has been some hitch and the money has not reached me, and when he came for it yesterday I had to tell him I did not have it, which hurt me.

To-day by mail arrived two large packages, both with special delivery stamps on them, a beautiful frock-coat and waistcoat. My dearest L. had sent them to Bonaparte. I hurried out to his house with them. He was out, but I put them in his daughter's hands. He had confided to me his anxiety as to his wedding garments, as he said the wedding being in town he wished to be suitably dressed. I wrote all this to L. and she truly did the impossible in getting them here in time, as she only returned to Washington from the mountains two days ago.

Just before dinner D. arrived, having brought a present of two mallard ducks. I was so charmed to have them, for C. leaves, to my regret, to-morrow. Later I received the check I had been expecting, so that I had the satisfaction and relief of sending for Bonaparte, who had not yet started for Gregory, and fulfilling my promise.

He was radiant. All's well that ends well, I suppose, but I have really suffered from the tension of fearing that the faithful old man was going to be disappointed.

December 9.

Sent C. and her delightful little Albert down to take the train yesterday. Their visit has been an unalloyed pleasure. Jim, being in Gregory, attended Bonaparte's wedding at 8 o'clock last evening. He says it was a most elegant and well-conducted affair, with an abundance of good cake and wine, and his respect for Daddy B. has risen immensely, which is a comfort and relief to me, for they are not very friendly. Bonaparte boasts, "Yes, Jim kin mak de crop, but Jim ain't got de key; I got de key," and of course that is aggravating.

I am very sensible of the thorns which accompany the roses of faithful service with both Chloe and Bonaparte, but all the same I thank the good Father for the thorns, because of the roses which sweeten my life.

December 13.

A good steady rain last night, thank God. There was a frightful danger of fire getting away in the woods. Every one was nervous about it. I am very tired, for I had to burn the chimneys, which always scares me terribly. I always have Bonaparte to help, and this morning he did not want to do it and said there was not rain enough and was rude to Chloe when she called him, so I determined to burn them myself.

I take a large newspaper, pour about a tablespoonful of kerosene on it, holding the end in the tongs, and as soon as it takes fire thrust it as far up the chimney as my arm will allow, which is not far; that is the reason I like to have Bonaparte do it. In an instant the whole chimney is ablaze, with a terrific roaring. Patty was stationed outside to see if any of the blazing soot lighted on the roof; I on my knees in front of the fireplace prayed with all my might; the terror that there may be a crack or flaw in the chimney is always with me. The great matter is to burn often and then there is no great accumulation of soot.

It has always been a thing I had to wind myself up for, and requires all my will to make me do it. Once I was so demoralized about it that I got a man to come with a regular little chimney-sweep from Gregory. The little fellow went up one chimney, but when he came down he wept and pleaded so not to go up again, saying the chimneys were so long, three stories, and the flues crossed so that he could not breathe, and I would not let the man send him up again. It was an expensive experiment, and I concluded the old time way of burning out was the best, and try to make myself do it once a month.

CHEROKEE, December 14.

A July day, rainy and hot. War in the kitchen zone. Goliah roused Chloe's ire and she fell upon him with fury. When I went down to remonstrate with Goliah he was in a great rage and I heard him mumbling, "Yes, if I only had my axe I wud 'a' settle 'em," and nothing I said could have any effect, so I had to tell him to leave the yard and not return.

It will be a loss to me, because I know all his faults and can generally meet them, and he is very competent for one of his size with the horses, and drives very well. I take him everywhere with me on the buckboard, but he has a morose, morbid temper and he has been very rude and impertinent to Chloe, so I cannot keep him.

December 15.

While I was wondering how I was to manage, Jim being away, without Goliah to put the horse in for me to go to church, and again in the evening for the rector, who is here on his monthly visit, to go to St. Cyprian's, the negro church, Chloe came in and said:—

"Goliah is yere. He dun ax my pa'don en I gib um, en I tell him I keep nuthin' agenst him."

I think it was as great a relief to her as it was to me to see him installed again. I trust now peace will reign for a while.

December 16.

Have the great pleasure of our Bishop's yearly visit. He came last evening after holding service at St. Cyprian's, the Colored chapel. It rained all night and looked very dismal this morning, but as we sat at breakfast the sun came out and we were all rejoiced. It is the event of the year in the parish and the disappointment of a rainy day would be intense.

We started for Peaceville at 10:15 and I was delighted to find Miss Penelope able to be at her post at the organ. It was a solemn service, with confirmation. The Bishop, Mr. G., and I were invited to a delicious lunch before going on to the little chapel in the woods. The chapel had been whitewashed and well scoured and beautifully dressed in honor of the Bishop's visit, being all hung with holly, moss, and evergreens.

The sight was touching. All the women had met together and scoured first and then decked it with nature's wreaths. Poor little Alifair had brought her month-old baby, which weighed about five pounds, to be christened. She asked me to be godmother and I found she had named it after me. Her mother told me this and asked anxiously: "Miss Patience, you won't mind?"

"No, no," I said; "it is always a compliment." But when I found it was a combination of my name with my dear mother's I felt a little abashed.

The little thing was so very white and so very tiny that I felt almost afraid to handle her, poor little mite. The father, a boy of 18, found matrimony too serious and slipped away some months ago.

The church was very full and I think they all carried away real help in their daily lives from the Bishop's sermon. We did not get home until nearly dark, but it had been a most delightful day.

Goliah has been behaving very badly lately. Chloe came to me looking very portentous one day to tell me he had a gun hid in the kitchen in the yard and that when anything went against him or she told him to get more wood he would bring out the gun and threaten to shoot Patty and herself.

Goliah was out at the time and I asked Patty if she knew where the gun was. She said yes, and I told her to bring it to me, which she did, and I locked it up. When Goliah came home and missed the gun from its hiding-place he went on terribly, Chloe said, cursing and swearing to kill every one.

I was busy in the house and heard nothing of this, but finally he came to me before he went home and said Patty had taken his gun and please to make her give it to him. I answered:—

"I took the gun which has made you behave so badly and have locked it up."

"De my Brudder Bill gun, en' I want um."

"When your brother wants his gun he can come for it, but I cannot permit you to have a gun in this yard. Never again dare to bring one!"

He went off very sulkily. The next day Bill's wife came and asked for the gun, saying it was her husband's. I told her if I gave it to her it must be on condition that she never let Goliah have it again. Lizette was with her and I appealed to her to witness to Dorcas's promise never to let Goliah have the gun. The promise was made and I gave up the gun. Since then quiet has reigned in the yard.

I do not know how old Goliah is, but he is four and one-half feet high, and when he is good, like the little girl we have heard of all our lives, he is very, very good, and when he is bad he is certainly horrid. Now he is in a bad spell.

December 18.

A beautiful morning. Ran out to the gate with a letter. When I got a bundle of mail and opening it saw a telegram, I sank down on the ground in fright—and sitting there read the message. Sorrow for those I love, and it is too late for me to reach them in time for the funeral.

While I was debating what to do a boy came up with a note from Miss Penelope: "Terrific fire burning around Peaceville. Miss Pandora and Miss Ermine were nearly burned out. Miss E. worked like a trojan to save it. Better look out for your premises."

I ordered Bonaparte to take Adam, Nan, and a wagon with hoes and rakes and drive out to the village and give all the help he could, and protect my yard if possible. As soon as I had given these orders I drove out myself to take a telegram to the mail.

I found Miss Pandora and Miss Ermine looking as though they had been through a great illness. The fire threatened for two days and a night, and they had fought it all that time, but it was now put out. While I was in the village the wind changed and the fire appeared in another direction. I had Jim take Ruth and Marietta out and tie them in my yard, so that he could go and help put out the new fire. I took a young pine sapling and helped beat it out.

It is awful to hear the roar of fire through the pine woods and know how hopeless it would be if it once crossed the line and rolled around the rambling, elongated village. The negro men and women who happened to be near behaved very well and worked with a will, and I will certainly reward them generously. I stayed until the fire seemed finally out and by burning a space to meet the oncoming flames, I trust the danger is past. Those who are accustomed to wood fires, and there are men in the village who have had experience and directed the work, now think it is safe.

I sent a telegram to ask if I was needed, and if an answer comes I will go; if no answer comes I will know they do not need me. It would be difficult for me to go just now, as I am expecting some sportsmen as paying guests, and must be at home. I am as nervous as though I were going to execution.

CHEROKEE, December 22.

I was sitting at dinner to-day when I heard Goliah run up the front steps and ring the bell violently. Knowing from the sound that there was something the matter, instead of sending Patty, who is in a constant state of war with him, I went out myself. He was panting as from a long run and gasped out:—

"Pa baig yu for meet 'um to de front gate."

"When?"

"Rite now, soon ez yu kin git dey."

"Where is your father?"

"Him dey 'een de sheriff buggy gwine to de chain gang."

"How is that possible?"

"Dem had um to Mr. Haman to de co't dis mawnin'."

"Who had him there?"

"Dorcas en him ma, en pa dun condem'."

I waited for no more, entirely forgetting that I had not eaten my dinner of delicious shad. I put on my hat and flew out to the front gate. One feels very tenderly for those one has helped and poor Elihu has been a care and anxiety to me for years.

His family relations have always been difficult and complicated. His second wife and nearly all his children having died of a galloping consumption, he has now taken a third wife who has eight children of her own and is a termagant, so that though he works hard, and is honest and law abiding after a fashion, and very civil, even courteous, in manner, he is always in some trouble, generally debt. On my way to the gate I met Lizette, his daughter, crying as she ran on her way to call me. I asked what it meant, as I had been unable to get anything out of Goliah, and she explained to me that Elihu had been away working in a lumber camp when Goliah had threatened Chloe with the gun, and when he came home and heard of it he was very angry, and said Bill had no right to let Goliah have the gun; that he had lent it to Bill when he was getting well from typhoid fever and able to walk about and shoot, because Bill's gun had been taken for debt, he never having paid for it after the first instalment.

Yesterday Elihu went to Bill's house and asked for the gun. Bill was out and his wife refused to give up the gun, upon which Elihu scolded her, no doubt in strong language, until finally she went to her trunk and took it out piece by piece, trying her best to convince him that she did not have all the parts. She ended, however, by giving them all up. When her mother came in she reviled her for being so meek spirited as to take a scolding from Elihu and give up the gun and proceeded to curse and abuse Elihu.

Of course he was not found wanting in retorts and a neighbor had to come in and make the peace. Elihu thought nothing more of it until he received a summons this morning from the so-called Judge to appear in court. He went with no idea of anything serious, had no witnesses even, but found that Dorcas's mother had indicted him.

By this time we reached the avenue gate and I sent Lizette to run to tell Jim, who was ploughing in the field, to put Ruth in the buckboard quickly and bring her to the gate. Shortly after I reached the avenue gate a buggy drove up containing Mr. Stout, the deputy sheriff, and Elihu, looking too downcast, black, and forlorn for words.

Elihu is of a peculiarly rich shade of black, almost blue black. His own mother when he was a boy always spoke of him as "dat black nigger." Through all the trials and tribulations of his fifty years of life he has never been in danger of the chain gang before, for he has kept a good character for one of his hue, and now the certain prospect of the gang unless some miracle happened had crushed the spirit out of him. I scarcely would have known him. I walked out of the gate and said:—

"Why, Mr. Stout, what does this mean?"

"It means, Miss Patience, that I'm a-taking Elihu to the chain gang. I've got the warrant in my pocket."

"And on what ground?"

"For cursing, Miss Patience, and making a disturbance on the public highway."

"Was he not in his son's house?"

"Yes, Miss Patience, but the Judge says that is within fifty yards of the public road."

"Has it been measured, Mr. Stout?"

"No, ma'am, Miss Patience, 'tain't been measured, but the woman said it was only forty yards from the road, en the Judge said he knowed the place and that was right."

"What is the sentence?"

"Thirty days on the gang, Miss Patience, or a fine of $50."

"Mr. Stout," I said, "you turn right round with me and drive back to Mr. Haman with Elihu. That house is more than fifty yards from the highway."

This he said he dared not do.