In spite of the scare all had received the previous Saturday, the New Year's eve hop was thoroughly enjoyed, for neither Durand nor Peggy was the worse for the experience, and the old year was danced out upon light, happy toes, only one shadow resting upon the joyous evening.

For over a year, there had been an officer stationed at the Academy who had been a source of discord among his fellow-officers, and a martinet with the midshipmen. He was small, petty, unjust, and not above resorting to methods despised by his confreres. He was loathed by the midshipmen because they could never count upon what they termed "a square deal," and consequently never knew just where they stood.

There were several who seemed to have incurred his especial animosity, and Durand in particular he hated: hated because the boy's quick wits invariably got him out of the scrapes which his mischievous spirit prompted, and "Gumshoes," as the boys had dubbed the officer, owing to his habit of sneaking about "looking for trouble," was not clever enough to catch him.

And thus it came about that, being once more circumvented by Durand on New Year's eve in a trivial matter at which any other officer would have laughed, he resorted to ways and means which a man with a finer sense of honor would have despised and—again he failed. But his chance came on New Year's day, when Durand, led into one of the worst scrapes of his life by Blue, fell into his clutches and the outcome was so serious that the entire brigade was restricted to the Yard's limits for three months, and gloom descended not only upon the Academy but upon all its friends.

Naturally, with her boys debarred from Middies' Haven, Mrs. Harold could do little for the girls, and their only sources of pleasure lay in such amusements as the town afforded and these were extremely limited. So much time was spent at Severndale with Peggy, and it was during one of these visits that Mrs. Harold figured in one of the domestic episodes of Severndale. They were not new to Peggy for she was Southern-born and used to the vagaries and childlike outbreaks of the colored people. But even though Mrs. Harold had lived among them a great deal, and thought she understood them pretty thoroughly, she had yet to learn some of the African's eccentricities.

January dragged on, the girls working with Captain Pennell and Dr. Llewellyn. During the month, one of the hands, Joshua Jozadak Jubal Jones, by the way, fell ill with typhoid fever, and was removed to the hospital. From the first his chances of recovery seemed doubtful, and "Minervy" his wife, as strapping, robust a specimen of her race as poor Joshua was tiny and, as she expressed it, "pore and pindlin'," was in a most emotional frame of mind. Again and again she came up to the great house to "crave consolatiom" from Miss Peggy, or Mammy Lucy, though, truth to tell, Mammy's sympathies were not very deeply enlisted. Minervy Jones did not move in the same SOCIAL SET in which Mammy held a dignified position: Mammy was "an emerged Baptis'"; Minervy a "Shoutin' Mefodist," and a strong feeling existed between the two little colored churches. Peggy visited the hospital daily and saw that Joshua lacked for nothing. Mrs. Harold was deeply concerned for Peggy's sake, for Peggy looked to the well-being of all the help upon the estate with the deep interest which generations of her ancestors had manifested, indeed regarded as incumbent upon them and part of their obligation to their dependents.

Days passed and poor Joshua grew no better, Minervy meanwhile spending most of her time in Aunt Cynthia's kitchen where she could sustain the inner woman with many a tidbit from the white folks' table, and speculate upon what was likely to become of them if her "pore lil chillern were left widderless orphans." It need hardly be added that the prospective "widderless orphans" were left to shift largely for themselves while she was accepting both mental and physical sustenance.

It was upon one of these visits, so indefinitely prolonged that Mammy's patience was at the snapping point, that she decided to give a needed hint. Entering the kitchen she said to Aunt Cynthia:

"'Pears ter me yo' must have powerful lot o' time on han', Sis' Cynthy."

"Well'm I AIN'T. No ma'am, not me," was Cynthia's prompt reply, for to tell the truth she was beginning to weary of doling out religious consolation and bodily sustenance, yet hospitality demanded something.

"Well, I reckons Miss Peggy's cravin' fer her luncheon, an' it's high time she done got it, too. Is yo' know de time?"

"Cou'se I knows de time," brindled Cynthia, "but 'pears lak time don' count wid some folks. Kin YO' see de clock, Mis' Jones?"

The question was sprung so suddenly that Minerva jumped.

"Yas'm, yas'm, Mis' Johnson, I kin see hit; yis, I kin," answered
Minervy, craning her neck for a pretended better view.

"Well, den, please, ma'am, tell me just 'zactly what it IS."

This was a poser. Minervy knew no more of telling time than one of her own children, but rising from her chair, she said:

"I 'clar ter goodness, I'se done shed so many tears in ma sorrer and grief over Joshua dat I sho' is a-loosin' ma eyesight." She then went close to the clock, looked long and carefully at it, but shook her head doubtfully. At length a bright idea struck her and turning to Cynthia she announced:

"Why, Sis' Cynthia, I believes yo' tryin' ter projec' wid me; dat clock don' STRIKE 'TALL. But I 'clar I mus' be a-humpin' masef todes dera chillern. I shore mus'."

"Yes, I'd 'vise it pintedly," asserted Cynthia, while Mammy Lucy added:

"It's sprisin' how some folks juties slips dey min's."

Three days later word came to Severndale that Joshua could hardly survive the day and Peggy, as she felt duty bound, went over to Minervy's cabin. She found her sitting before her fire absolutely idle.

"Minervy," she began, "I have had word from the hospital and Joshua is not so well. I think you would better go right over."

"Yas'm, yas'm, Miss Peggy, I spec's yo' sees it dat-a-way, honey, but— but yo' sees de chillern dey are gwine car'y on scan'lus if I leaves 'em. My juty sho' do lie right hyer, yas'm it sho' do."

"But Minervy, Joshua cannot live."

"Yas'm, but he ain' in his min' an' wouldn't know me no how, but dese hyer chillerns is ALL got dey min's cl'ar, an' dey STUMMICKS empty. No'm, I knows yo' means it kindly an' so I teks hit, but I knows ma juty," and nothing Peggy could say had any effect.

That night Joshua died. The word came to Severndale early the following morning.

"Well," said Mrs. Harold, "from her philosophical resignation to the situation yesterday, I don't imagine she will be greatly overcome by the news."

"Mh—um," was Mammy's non-committal lip-murmur, and Peggy wagged her head. Mrs. Harold and Polly were spending the week at Severndale, and were dressing for breakfast. Their rooms communicated with Peggy's and they had been laughing and talking together when the 'phone message came.

"Mammy," called Peggy. "Please send word right down to Minervy."

"Yas, baby, I sends it, and den yo' watch out," warned Mammy.

"What for?" asked Peggy.

"Fo' dat 'oman. She gwine mak one fuss DIS time ef she never do again."

"Nonsense, Mammy, I don't believe she cares one straw anyway. She is the most unfeeling creature I've ever seen."

"She may be ONfeelin' but she ain' ON-doin', yo' mark me," and Mammy went off to do as she was bidden.

Perhaps twenty minutes had passed when the quiet of the lower floor was torn by wild shrieks and on-rushing footsteps, with voices vainly commanding silence and decorum: commands all unheeded. Then came a final rush up the stairs and Minervy distraught and dishevelled burst into Mrs. Harold's room, and without pausing to see whom she was falling upon, flung her arms about that startled woman, shrieking:

"He's daid! He's daid! Dem pore chillern is all widderless orphans. I felt it a-comin'! Who' gwine feed an' clothe and shelter dose pore lambs? Ma heart's done bruck! Done bruck!"

"Minervy! Minervy! Do you know what you are doing! Let go of Mrs. Harold this instant," ordered Peggy, nearly overcome with mortification that her guest should meet with such an experience at Severndale. "Do you hear me? Control yourself at once."

She strove to drag the hysterical creature from Mrs. Harold, but she might as well have tried to drag away a wild animal. Minervy continued to shriek and howl, while Mammy, scandalized beyond expression, scolded and stormed, and Jerome called from the hall below.

Then Mrs. Harold's sense of humor came to her rescue and she had an inspiration, for she promptly decided that there was no element of grief in Minervy's emotions.

"Minerva, Minerva, HAVE you ordered your mourning? You knew Joshua could not live," she cried.

Had she felled the woman with a blow the effect could not have been more startling. Instantly the shrieks ceased and releasing her hold Minervy struck an attitude:

"No'm, I HASN'T! I cyant think how I could a-been so careless-like, an' knowin' all de endurin' time dat I boun' fer ter be a widder. How could I a-been so light-minded?"

"Well, you have certainly got to have some black clothes right off. It would be dreadful not to have proper mourning for Joshua."

Meanwhile Peggy and Polly had fled into the next room.

"I sho' mus', ma'am. How could I a-been so 'crastinatin' an' po' Joshua a-dyin' all dese hyer weeks. I am' been 'spectful to his chillern; dat I ain't. Lemme go right-way an' tink what I's needin'. But please ma'am, is YO' a widder 'oman? Case ef yo' is yo's had spurrience an' kin tell me bes' what I needs."

It was with difficulty that Mrs. Harold controlled her risibles, so utterly absurd rather than pathetic was the whole situation, for not one atom of real grief for Joshua lay in poor, shallow Minervy's heart. Then Mrs. Harold replied:

"No, Minervy. I am not a widow; at least I am only a GRASS widow, and they do not wear mourning, you know."

"No'm, no'm, I spec's not. But what mus' I git for masef an' does po' orphans!"

"Well, you have a black skirt, but have you a waist and hat? And you would better buy a black veil; not crape, it is too perishable; get nun's veiling, and—"

"Nun's veilin'? Nun's veilin'?" hesitated Minervy. "But I ain' NO NUN, mistiss, I'se a WIDDER. I ain' got no kind er use fer dem nunses wha' don' never mahry. I'se been a mahryin' 'oman, I is."

"Well you must choose your own veil then," Mrs. Harold managed to reply.

"Yas'm, I guesses I better, an' I reckons I better git me a belt an' some shoes, 'case if I gotter be oneasy in ma min' dars no sort o' reason fer ma bein' uneasy in ma FOOTS too, ner dem chillern neither. Dey ain' never is had shoes all 'roun' ter onct, but I reckons dey better he fitted out right fer dey daddy's funeral. Dey can't tend it hut onct in all dey life-times no how. And 'sides, I done had his life assured 'gainst dis occasiom, an' I belongs ter de sassiety wha' burys folks in style wid regalions. Dey all wears purple velvet scaffses ober dey shoulders an' ma'ches side de hearse. Dar ain' nothin' cheap an' no 'count bout DAT sassiety. No ma'am! An' I reckons I better git right long and look arter it all," and Minervy, still wiping her eyes, hurried from the room, Mammy's snort of outrage unheeded, and her words:

"NOW what I done tole yo', baby? I tells yo' dat 'oman ain' mo'n ha'f human if she IS one ob ma own color. I'S a cullured person, but she's jist pure nigger, yo' hyar me?" and Mammy flounced from the room.

Polly and Peggy reentered Mrs. Harold's room. She had collapsed upon the divan, almost hysterical, and Polly looked as though someone had dashed cold water in her face. Peggy was the only one who accepted the situation philosophically. With a resigned expression she said:

"THAT'S Minervy Jones. She is one type of her race. Mammy is another. Now we'll see what she'll buy. I'll venture to say that every penny she gets from Joshua's life-insurance will be spent upon clothes for herself and those children."

"And I started the idea," deplored Mrs. Harold.

"Oh, no, you did not. She would have thought of it as soon as she was over her screaming, only you stopped the screaming a little sooner, for which we ought to be grateful to you. She is only one of many more exactly like her."

"Do you mean to tell me that there are many as heedless and foolish as she is?" demanded Mrs. Harold.

"Dozens. Ask Harrison about some of them."

"Well, I never saw anything like her," cried Polly, indignantly. "I think she is perfectly heartless."

"Oh, no, she isn't. She simply can't hold more than one idea at a time. Just now it's the display she can make with her insurance money. They insure each other and everything insurable, and go half naked in order to do so. The system is perfectly dreadful, but no one can stop them. Probably every man and woman on the place knows exactly what she will receive and half a dozen will come forward with money to lend her, sure of being paid back by this insurance company. It all makes me positively sick, but there is no use trying to control them in that direction. I don't wonder Daddy Neil often says they were better off in the old days when a master looked after their well-being."

An hour later Minervy was driving into Annapolis, three of her boon companions going with her, the "widderless orphans" being left to get on as best they could. She spent the entire morning in town, returning about three o'clock with a wagonful of purchases. Poor Joshua's remains were being looked after by the Society and would later come to Severndale.

Mrs. Harold and the girls were sitting in the charming living-room when
Jerome came to ask if Miss Peggy would speak with Minervy a moment.

"Oh, DO bring her in here," begged Mrs. Harold.

Peggy looked doubtful, but consented, and Jerome went to fetch the widow.

When she entered the room Mrs. Harold and the girls were sorely put to it to keep sober faces, for Minervy had certainly outdone herself; not only Minervy, but her entire brood which followed silently and sheepishly behind her. Can Minervy's "mourning" be described? Upon her head rested a huge felt hat of the "Merry Widow" order, and encircling it was a veil of some sort of stiff material, more like crinoline than crape. There were YARDS of it, and so stiff that it stuck straight out behind her like a horse's tail. Under the brim was a white WIDOW'S ruche. Her waist was a black silk one adorned with cheap embroidery, and a broad belt displayed a silver buckle at least four inches in diameter, ornamented with a huge glass carbuncle at least half the buckle's size. On her own huge feet were a pair of shining patent-leather shoes sporting big gilt buckles, and each child wore PATENT-LEATHER DANCING POMPS.

"Why, Minervy," cried Peggy, really distressed, "How COULD you?"

"Why'm, ain' we jist right? I thought I done got bargains wha' jist nachally mak' dat odder widow 'oman tek a back seat AN' sit down. SHE didn't git no sich style when James up an died," answered Minervy, reproach in her tone and eyes.

"But, Minervy," interposed Mrs. Harold. "That bright red stone in the buckle; how can you consider THAT MOURNING? And your veil shouldn't stick—I mean it ought to hang down properly."

Minervy looked deeply perturbed. Shifting from one patent-leather-shod foot to the other, she answered:

"Well'm, well'm, I dare say you's had more spurrience in dese hyer t'ings 'n I is, but dat ston certain'y did strike ma heart. But ef yo' say 'taint right why, pleas ma'am git a pair o' scissors an' prize it out, tho' I done brought de belt fer de sake ob dat buckle. Well, nemmine. I reckons I kin keep it, an' if I ever marhrys agin it sho will come in handy."

The combined efforts of Mrs. Harold, Peggy and Polly eventually got Minervy passably presentable as to raiment, but there they gave up the obligation.

On the following Sunday the funeral was held with all the ceremony and display dear to the African heart, but "Sis Cynthia, Mammy Lucy and Jerome were too occupied with domestic duties to attend." "I holds masef clar 'bove sich goin's-on," was Mammy's dictum. "When I dies, I 'spects ter be bur'rid quiet an' dignumfied by ma MISTISS, an' no sich crazy goin's on as dem yonder."

Later Minervy and her "nine haid ob chillern" betook themselves into the town of Annapolis where matrimonial opportunities were greater, and, sure enough, before two months were gone by she presented herself to Peggy, smiling and coy, to ask:

"Please, ma'am, is yo' got any ol' white stuff wha' I could use fer a bridal veil?"

"A BRIDAL veil?" repeated Peggy, horrified at this new development.

"Yas'm, dat's what I askin' fer. Yo' see, Miss Peggy, dat haid waiter man at de Central Hotel, he done fall in love wid ma nine haid o' po' orphanless chillern an' crave fer ter be a daddy to 'em. An' Miss Peggy, honey, Johanna she gwine be ma bride's maid, an' does yo' reckon yo's got any ole finery what yo' kin giv' her? She's jist 'bout yo' size, ma'am."

Johanna was Minervy's eldest daughter.

"Yes. I'll get exactly what you want," cried Peggy, her lips set and her eyes snapping, for her patience was exhausted.

Going to her storeroom Peggy brought to light about three yards of white cotton net and a pistachio green mull gown, long since discarded. It was made with short white lace sleeves and low cut neck.

"Here you are," she said, handing them to Minervy who was thrown into a state of ecstacy. "But wait a moment; it lacks completeness," and she ran to her room for a huge pink satin bow. "There, tell Johanna to pin THAT on her head and the harlequin ice will be complete."

But her sarcasm missed its mark. Then Peggy went to her greenhouses and gathering a bunch of Killarney roses walked out to the little burial lot where the Severndale help slept and laying them upon Joshua's grave said softly:

"YOU were good and true and faithful, and followed your light."

[Footnote: NOTE—The author would like to state that this episode actually did take place upon the estate of a friend.]