Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

January 1.

The new year ought to fill one with bright anticipations and hopes, but somehow I am so weighed down by realities, in the shape of bills and accounts which should be paid and for which I see no wherewithal, that my horizon seems dark and cloud-capped. I try to keep myself hard at work, as that is the only way to get rid of anxiety.

I am having wool washed to make a mattress, as I need a nice single mattress, and the only way to get it at this moment is to make it. Chloe and Patty are to wash it to-morrow.

January 2.

Drove Marietta this morning for the second time. Jim always walked behind driving with long reins, while Gibbie led her as far as the front gate, so I followed his example and drove from behind until we got into the public road, when I got in. She fought a little, but went beautifully when once we were started.

I wanted to go to the post-office in Peaceville but did not wish to stop there, as we did that the last time, and with a colt it is so important not to let it form a habit of stopping at any one place. So I drove all the way up the village to the last house, and turning there came back to the post-office. Alack and alas! it was closed. If only I had stopped on the way up I would have got my mail, and I was hoping for a valuable letter. While I stopped talking, asking if it would not be possible to have the office opened for a moment, one of my dear Sunday-school boys galloped by on horseback, followed by his black dog.

Marietta just made up her mind to get rid of all impediments and pursue them, especially the dog. She reared, she plunged, she bucked, she whirled, she stood so long on her hind legs pawing the air that I thought she must fall back on me. Gibbie, however, held on to her manfully, although nearly lifted from the ground. Mr. R. was so excited that he jumped the high paling fence to come to my assistance, but there was nothing he could do. However, I was glad of his suggestion, made in his deliberate way: "I would turn her head the other way," which advice I gladly followed and drove rapidly up the village for the second time and on in that direction until she was somewhat quiet and then turned homeward, trusting Fred and his black dog had gone a long distance and would not return until I was safely at home.

One dangerous spot after another was passed and I began to breathe more freely when, as I reached the Clay gully, I saw in the distance the galloping horse and frisking black dog approaching. My heart was in my mouth, but I make it a rule never to call out in an alarmed tone, as a horse is so sensitive to the driver's feelings. I had taken her around a little side cut she was unaccustomed to so that she was so busy examining every root and stump that she did not see the approaching party. To my great relief Fred saw us, and with wonderful presence of mind called his dog, which had nearly reached us, and rode rapidly off in another direction. I was very thankful, and greatly pleased at the boy's prompt thought and action.

Got home without further trouble and did not give poor little Marietta the reward she was expecting—two quarts of oats. Gibbie was indignant at this and proceeded to argue with me, but I was firm and told him Marietta would understand perfectly.

January 6.

Have had the great privilege and pleasure of having our Bishop as my guest, on his pastoral visit to our struggling little parish. The Bishop's visit is always a season of uplift and thankfulness.

January 7.

Drove Marietta to-day, and though she was nervous at first and it was hard for me to get in the road cart, she soon quieted down and went eight miles without any excitement, so that I had the pleasure of giving her the two quarts of oats mixed with soda and hot water which is the reward of merit.

Friday, January 8.

This morning I told Gibbie that we would drive down the road, as we have been up so often, because the bridge a short distance below has been undergoing repairs. Marietta went very quietly until we got out of the gate and turned her head down the road and I got in—then she wheeled sharp around and reared until I thought she must fall back—she plunged, she squatted until she broke up the harness entirely. Gibbie lost his nerve and instead of holding her by the bit, as he did the last time she fought, he held the end of a six foot halter, so that he had no power over her and was in danger of being pawed.

I held on to the reins, fortunately. She turned herself around in the shafts, having broken girth and crupper, until she faced me, and as I kept my tight grip on the reins she was nearly choked. Purposely I pulled tighter and tighter, and when she found herself entirely tied up in the harness and choking she was quiet and stood without moving while Gibbie and Bonaparte took off the remnants of the harness. Fortunately the head-stall and reins were strong and held. I found there was no hope of putting her back in the cart, as it would take days to patch up the harness, so I told Gibbie I would drive her down the road without any vehicle, he leading and I holding the reins behind. We had a great deal of trouble to get her started down the road, but she went after a while quietly enough until we came to the bridge, where she made a tremendous fight. When I was worn out with her wheeling and fighting I gave the lines to Gibbie and told him to stand perfectly still, not make any effort to get her over, but if she started to go, to follow her. Then I went across and stood a short distance from the bridge and willed her to come over, putting all my strength into the will. She put one foot slowly forward and then the other, apparently with the greatest reluctance, but once started she came straight to me, and then I took the lines and drove her three miles. She was just as quiet and docile as though she had never fought. She walked so rapidly, however, dragging me along at a most unusual pace for me, that I was completely exhausted when we got home.

January 8.

Started on mattress about 10 o'clock and worked steadily until I finished it at midnight. I made the tick on the machine just after breakfast and then had Bonaparte make me a frame just the size of the spring I wanted the mattress to fit. This was not finished until 10 and I was very much afraid I would not be able to finish, but I did by working, with only half an hour for dinner. I get so interested in anything I am doing, it does not matter what it is, for the moment, it is the most engrossing occupation in the world. The wool was beautifully washed, which made it pleasant.

When it came to sticking a needle a foot long through the mattress and tying with twine I had to get Jim's willing and efficient help, but that was not until after 9 to-night. I am so exhilarated by the success of my work that I am neither tired nor sleepy and have to make myself stop working and go to bed, when I hope to sleep serenely "clothed in the light of high duties done."

January 9.

Sewed nearly all day, which is a rare treat to me. The wood we are using burns out so fast, that I have been urging the men to cut enough logs from the live oaks (which I have at last got sawed down), to give each fireplace a back log; that makes such a difference in the permanence and heat of the fire. Joe Keit said the wood was too hard, might as well try to cut iron, and that it would take all day to cut one log, making it very dear wood. I was provoked, but never having sawed any wood at all, I did not know whether what he said was true or not—that always worries me—so I put down my sewing and got the big saw about 4½ feet long with one handle, which is comfortable to grasp, and went out to the four splendid live oaks which were killed in the storm, whether by lightning or otherwise I don't know, but they have stood there in melancholy naked grandeur ever since, till this winter I bought a fine cross-cut saw, and had Jim and Joe Keit to saw them down. It was long and laborious, but they had become a menace to the cattle, as the limbs rotted and fell. I selected a limb of suitable height for me to work on and began very awkwardly to saw. The cattle seeing so unusual a sight gathered round me, and Equinox, the bull, feeling sure I must be fixing food for them, came nearer and nearer in his investigations, so that I was forced to an ignominious retreat, before I had made much progress on my "iron" limb. I was not going to give it up, however. I went into the next lot where there was an even more indestructible oak tree, which various men at various times had refused to tackle, and began afresh with the saw. I was pleased to find myself already a little handier and worked with great satisfaction. I remembered Dickens' "'tis dogged does it" and my spirits rose as I got the knack of drawing back the big saw. Jim, who was engaged in cutting limbs from a green live oak, which is much less tough, and which I disapprove of entirely, some distance off, came and expressed great anxiety lest I overexert myself and said, "Let me finish it, Miss Patience, you'll be here till dark," but I proudly declined, and to his and my amazement I had the back log off in half an hour.

"Now," I said, "if I who have never handled a saw before in my life, can cut that log, seven inches in diameter, which has been here since the storm of '93, and rings like metal when you strike it, in half an hour, you and Joe Keit should be able to cut those logs of the same size from those oaks which are rotting a little, in ten minutes, and by giving a day to it, the house will be supplied with back logs for two months at least."

January 10.

I ventured to church in spite of rain which did not amount to much. A little stiff and painful from my prowess with saw yesterday, but would not for worlds acknowledge it to any one. Had my iron log brought in and set up in the piazza, and shall put a geranium on it as a pedestal. I am so proud of it I cannot think of burning it up.

I hear that Gibbie has moved off of the place, has left without paying his rent. He came on the 16th, and paid one dollar on his rent for October, the rent being $1.25 a month, and he says he gets one dollar a day for his work. He assured me that it was impossible for him to pay more until some mythical time when he would be paid off and pay the rest to date. Now he has slipped away without paying at all. I have written to see if I can get it from his employer. Now comes his brother David to tell me he is going—he pays me $2.25 which leaves $6.50 still due me. I made him give me his note payable by April first for that. I do not doubt April first was a most suitable date and that it will be a proper celebration of the day as April fool. Chloe's indignation is great for she knows how often I have helped them in sickness and how patiently I have waited on them. She burst out, "De good yu do, de t'enks yu git, how yu help dem po' mudder tru' she long sickness an' tribulation! but w'at better kin you 'spec f'um run-way nigger fam'bly?"

Chloe began: "W'en I bin a small gal."

I seemed surprised at this and said, "What do you mean, Chloe?" "Miss Pashuns, you don' know dem kum frum run-way nigger fam'bly?"

"No," I answered, "I never heard of such a thing."

"Well, den, I'll tell you. W'en I bin a small gal, bin a min' chill'un ne[4] street, my grandpa Moses bin one o' ole Maussa fo'man—him had one gang o' twenty man, en Daddy Sam, Bonapaa't pa, had de oder gang, en dem uster bery proud o' dem gang, en dem gang used to run race fo' wuk. Well, my grandpa had Gibbie grandpa een him gang—'e name was Able, but Able neber love wuk—soon as de springtime cum en dem biggin fo' staat for plant crap, Able n'used to run way; ebery year de same t'ing—en dat used to mek de gang mad, kase dem had for du him wuk. You onderstan', Miss Patience, dem had to share him task between dem, fu' extry. One time Able bin gone six mont'—de 'hole summa' en Maussa bin a fret, say somet'ing mus' be happen to Able, 'kase him always did cum home befo' col' wedder en now de wuk all dun, en de tetta dun dig een, en we de fix fu' winta! One day de chill'un bin a play in de street en Able gal com on contac' wid anoda' gal, en dem bigin fu' sass one nudda. De oda gal say, 'I'se betta'n yu any way. I'se got Pa, en yu ain' got no Pa.' Den Able gal mek answa, 'I is got Pa.' De oda gal say, 'How cum nobody see yu Pa? No, yu ain't got no Pa.' 'I is got Pa, I tell yu.' 'W'ey yu Pa? ef yu got um.' 'My Pa dey up loft een a barrel.' De oder gal tell him pa dat night, en him gone straight en tell my grandpa, en de nex' mo'nin dem tell Mr. Flowers en him tek my grandpa Moses en gone to Able house, en dem gone up een de loft, en dey tru'es you born, was Able cumfutable een a big rice barrel! You know dem was big barrel dat time fu' hol' six hund'ed pound. W'en dem tek Able to Maussa him say, 'Well boy, I'm sorry you kyant mek up yu min' to wuk for me, you'se de only run-way I'se eber had, an' if you don' want to stay en wuk fu' me, I'll hav' to sell you I suppose.' Now, Miss Pashuns, yu see Gibbie cum f'um run-way stock, en all o' dem is triflin' no-count people."

Poor Gibbie, I didn't know his ancestral weaknesses, but I recognize the type—quitters all—start with a flourish, but soon leave the track. His mother came of better stock, she was a faithful worker; it is the father, whose name I always spell "Pshaw" because it describes him, who transmits the blood Chloe so scorns. I always have had a weak spot for Gibbie, and now I am more than ever conscious of it. Who of us rises above his inherited weaknesses? Not all, certainly.

Monday.

After all the agitation of Gibbie's disappearance by night, he has returned and entreated me to forgive him, and greatly to Chloe's disgust I have done so and he is back in the stable and I am thankful to have him there.

Tuesday.

As it is impossible for me to stand driving Marietta on foot, I had Gibbie lead her, sitting behind the buckboard, in which I drove her mother. It is absolutely important that she should go out on the public road every day and get accustomed to the sights—to-day I tried the experiment. She went well until I took up the whip, and then she drew back and Gibbie had to get off. I drove on slowly, and fortunately it happened, for just before I reached the bridge I met a white-covered wagon—those country wagons, which, seen so often in the mountains, are rare here, and Ruth was very much frightened by it and would not pass.

If a young man who was sitting by the driver had not got out and led her past I do not know what would have happened. I drove on over the bridge and then back to find what had become of Gibbie and Marietta. I found them still fighting, but after a little patting and talking to, Marietta allowed him to sit on the buckboard and lead her. I went about eight miles, and I hope after this I will have no trouble.

January 11.

Drove Ruth again with Gibbie sitting on back of buckboard leading Marietta. She fought a little about turning down the road, but went ten miles after that at a good rapid pace and gave no trouble, so that I was greatly surprised this evening when Gibbie asked for a few words and said: "I do' wan' to hab' no'tin' mo' fur do wid de colt. I weary wid 'um, en I do' wan' you for call me no mo'. I discouridge 'bout 'um."

I laughed at him about it, but I found he was in earnest and that there was something I did not understand. I said, "You know the colt does not like Dab, and she likes and knows you. When I got Jim to handle her for the month he was here, I would have liked him to take Dab with him to drive Marietta, but he said Dab was not quick enough, and she did not know him—she knows you because you feed her. Now, are you willing for me to go out with only Dab to help me with her?" He only mumbled something about being "discouridge," and I let him go.

January 12.

It is a perfect spring day; it is hard to believe we have two months of winter yet. Of course I could not give up taking Marietta out because of Gibbie's whim, so I ordered the buckboard with Ruth, and Marietta with halter to lead behind as usual, and seeing by his stolid, sulky expression that Gibbie had not changed his mind I called Dab to lead Marietta. We got off better than I had expected, Gibbie looking on with a Mephisto expression. Things went very well until we had gone about half a mile, when an old mammy with a shining tin bucket in her hand came out of a side road. She made me a deep curtsy and went on, I supposed, when I heard her exclaim, "My lawd, 'e git 'way," and looking back I saw Marietta flying down the road, with the long halter twisting about and Dab in hot pursuit. What was I to do? Ruth will not stand. I got out and took the halter and laboriously sought a tree which would suit by the roadside and tied her. Then I flew down the road, calling to Dab to come back and not pursue the colt. At last he heard, and I sent him to stand by Ruth and I walked rapidly after Marietta. She was out of sight, but at last I came to the place where she was grazing by the road. When she first saw me she moved off, but I stood still and called her to me with many blandishments and promises, and she came quietly up to me, let me take the halter and lead her back to where the buckboard waited.

I charged Dab not to let it happen again, and we drove on without further adventure. I told Dab he need not mention his great carelessness to any one; that I was too much ashamed of it to wish it known. I hope Gibbie will never know, as we came home all serene, having been to Miss Penelope's and made many necessary purchases.

January 13.

When I went to the stable this morning Gibbie had already taken Marietta and led her down the road with the blind bridle on! I was greatly surprised and amused. He had thought to scare me, thinking I would not be willing to take the colt out without him, but having failed in that he has returned to his allegiance to her. Jim put a bridle on her without blinkers, and it has made her very difficult to manage. I have not been able to use a whip at all. I cannot lift my hand to my head without her jumping, so that I am perfectly delighted that Gibbie put the other bridle on her. I do hope I can soon have the harness, which has gone to be mended, so that I can drive her again.

January 18.

Went to Casa Bianca, where things are in a bad way—the hands positively refuse to come out to work when called by Nat. There is no one I can think of whom I could make foreman. Nat works faithfully himself and keeps his accounts straight, and if the hands will not accept him they will have to go. From the time Marcus left they have done nothing. They planted five acres of rice-land apiece, but did not work it at all, so that they did not pay their rent, and I know they would do worse this year. It has proved a splendid crop year, and they could get $1.15 a bushel for their rice, but they have none, because they were too lazy to work it. They grumbled and jawed about "not takkin' orders from de young man I put in charge," and when I asked point-blank if they refused to take orders from my foreman they answered that they did, and I told them to leave.

These men will go to my neighbors, who will be glad to have them, and I trust they will improve and get back to the point they had reached when Marcus left. It seems a pity to have such beautiful lands as I have there, lie idle for want of hands.

I told Nat to do the best he could with the few left and to exact a shad a week from the fishermen who are now spreading their nets in the river just in front of the house.

January 23.

Got into road cart at the front door and drove Marietta down the avenue for the first time. She went well; it was very hot and she was in a great heat when we got home. Went down the road to the log school-house, and no well-broken horse could have done better. With joy I gave her her two quarts of oats mixed with hot water and soda; this has nearly cured the lampas from which she was suffering. Waited dinner till 4:30 o'clock, expecting Mr. G., but he did not come.

January 25.

The hands all pulling corn-stalks; Gibbie hauling manure to corn-fields. I did not stop him to drive Marietta until 1 o'clock. She behaved very badly at the turn of the road going to Peaceville; she wheeled suddenly and reared at nothing that I could see. Gibbie held on to his seat. He said, "'E smell goat, I smell um meself." I think she was provoked at not getting out sooner—we generally go just after breakfast. Went on to Peaceville and made a visit, but she was very ticklish all the time and on the way home she tried to run twice. As we got nearer home she quieted down, and I knew she was thinking of the oats, but I did not give it to her, for she understands perfectly. To-night I finished the first volume of the "Life of George Eliot," by J. W. Cross, which Mr. G. lent me. My sympathy with her is great. A grand woman in mind and heart. Such a misfortune she should have fallen under the Bray influence.

January 26.

A most exquisite sky at 6 a.m. and a wonderful sunrise. Thank God for all His beauty!

Drove Marietta down and took lunch at Mrs. H.'s. She went beautifully. Stood quietly the hour I was there, scarcely moving, and was as gay as possible at the end of the sixteen-mile drive, and I gave her her reward with delight.

February 2.

Have had the pleasure of a friend staying with me, and my diary is blank in consequence. While my friend was here I could not drive Marietta and very much feared that the week's idleness would make her unwilling to go quietly this morning, but she did remarkably well. We just escaped terrible danger in the shape of a party of boys driving a team of goats. I saw them in the distance and was wondering what I should do, when they turned off into another road. Coming home for the first time she had to come behind a buggy, which passed me while I was stopping at the post-office. She did not mind it at all. It was a great satisfaction to me, as the occupant of the buggy was one of my dear neighbors who had predicted terrible things if I undertook to break the colt, and had said, "My dear Mrs. Pennington, at your age you ought to have more sense than to do such a foolish thing."

Cherokee, February 18.

Drove Marietta this morning and she behaved like a fiend. With all my heart I thank the good Father for his great mercy to me.

She started off pretty well, though I felt a subtle something unusual about her.

In a woman it would be called "nerves." About a mile up the road she had settled into the long, swinging trot, when through the pine woods running toward us I saw two little darkies in startlingly red frocks and startlingly white pinafores. This only was needed to upset her. She jumped, she pitched, she went from side to side of the road, but she did not get away from me, and after a little fight she quieted down, and I called the two little girls, who stood dismayed near the road, to me and talked to them, as that is always the most quieting thing to her. She seems to listen eagerly, as if trying to understand. After a few seconds we went on, very gingerly at first, but soon she resumed her beautiful level trot, head up, nostrils distended, and speed gradually increasing as we went on. It was delightful, and with a sigh of relief I shook dull care from me and gave myself up to the enjoyment of the moment—the perfect day, the battle won, and the beautiful, sleek bay creature, whose every pulse and thought I seemed to feel. Suddenly I saw fifty feet ahead at the opening of the Hasty Point avenue, where the grass stood high, two black heads rise above the brown, waving sedge a second and as suddenly disappear. Just as I saw them Marietta did. She stopped short, almost throwing me on to her back. Then, quick as lightning, wheeled and bolted, putting the left wheel into the deep ditch, throwing me so far out on that side, that my ear felt the wind of the wheel, and was spattered with mud though not cut. Luckily I had a firm grip on the rein with my right hand, and having learned to ride by balance, I did not go out, and my whole weight going on that rein, pulled the left wheel out of the ditch as she ran, but it was a near thing, and God's great mercy. She ran half a mile before I could pull her down, then I turned and drove her back, finding Gibbie on the way. He was thrown off when she wheeled, and of course could never catch up. I drove her ten miles and then up the avenue, where she had been frightened. The two boys (16 and 18), who had caused the trouble, came up to me and begged my pardon. I spoke severely to them, for some years ago I remember they scared the mail man's horse in the same way, and so could not plead ignorance. He, being a man of action, shot at them, frightening them terribly, and yet they have done exactly the same thing again, though a man who passed them in a buggy, warned them that I was coming with the colt.

February 20.

It rained yesterday, so that I could not drive Marietta, as I wanted to do, but I took her out immediately after breakfast this morning. I could not go as far as I wanted because about four miles down the road I found all the woods on fire, so I turned before she got too frightened. She was very good, so I gave her both oats and potatoes when we got home. To-morrow is our rector's Sunday and he is to stay with me. I will have to use both buckboards. I had Bonaparte put a new seat to the old one, and it looked so badly that I could not resist painting it when I got back from driving Marietta, thinking I would have time if I worked rapidly to get through before Mr. G. arrived. I was so absorbed that I did not hear the noise of the rowboat coming, and so he found me in my big apron hard at work. I was sorry to be caught, but the job was finished and looked very fine—at least to my eyes.

Sunday, February 21.

A very pleasant service. Mr. G. was to go on to the mission service for the pineland people in the woods about nine miles away, so he lunched in Peaceville and I returned home. As soon as I got in the gate Chloe called out "Good news," and I found to my delight that A. had run down from his legislative duties to make me a little visit. Such a pleasure!

February 23.

Got up at 3:30 to have coffee and toast for A. to go out ducking. If you do not go early there is no use to go ducking at all. We had lunch at twelve, and then I drove him to Gregory to take the afternoon train. He got twelve English ducks, which looked very imposing as he got on the train.

February 26.

One of the road cart wheels is dangerous, so I had Romola put in and took my side-saddle along, and drove up to a man about six miles away and left the cart to be mended. Dab swung on the little shelf behind and saddled Romola for me, then walked home while I rode around by Peaceville for the mail. It was a long fatiguing day, but beautiful, the only drawback being that Don, my splendid red setter, came upon a swarm of little pigs about three days old and killed one of the tiny things, and the old woman to whom they belonged was much distressed. I gave her what I had in my purse, but it was not much, and that pig meant such immense hopes! I felt for her—oh, the pitiful little realities on which we build such towering hopes!

March 1.

I took the whole household down to Casa Bianca to-day—Chloe, Patty, and Dab—for I was giving a luncheon. It was a charming day and the place looked fascinating to me, and every one said the same thing. I took out and used all my beautiful china, which I rarely do, because it is such a critical business to get it all washed up and put away before leaving. That is why I took Chloe; that, and the hope of getting a shad fresh from the river and having it planked. One of the guests was from the North and I wanted her to taste it fresh from the water, but alas! Nat was so occupied getting himself dressed in a stiffly starched shirt and other unusual adornments that he did not get the shad. I was greatly disappointed, but we went after lunch down to the river in front of the house and saw some caught, and we each carried one home with us.

March 3.

Have not been able to drive Marietta, because the road cart had gone to be mended, but to-day sent Dab up to get it. Have had a great deal to worry me. I had a letter from the matron to tell me that my poor, dear little darky Rab is ill of typhoid pneumonia. She says he calls for me all the time, and asked her every day if she had written, so she had to write. Last week I sold a steer to a man for $13. He declared he had the money or I would not have sold the steer. To-day he arrived, bringing $4, with voluminous promises of the rest in a month's time—it will probably be six months before I see the rest of the money if ever, and now I want to send money for Rab's illness.

I took Chloe to Casa Bianca to serve luncheon.

March 5.

I sewed until 11:30 and then Gibbie brought the colt. It was a perfect day and a joy to be going out with Marietta again. She threatened trouble at the gate, but Gibbie ran to her head and I gave her one or two sharp cuts with the whip and she went on, rather sulkily however, so I had Gibbie walk ahead as far as the bridge, but did not see until I was just up to the bridge a huge flat with a house on it, a great smoke coming out of a pipe on top, half under the bridge. I called to the man angrily to come out and speak. Marietta seemed squatting with a view to some desperate action, and there was nothing I could do. I could not force her over the bridge in a state of fright—it would have been most unwise—it would have been equally unwise to turn around even if I could have done it, so I appeared to have forgotten her and told the man it was against the law to tie his flat under the bridge in that way, that it was enough to frighten any horse, and that was actionable, and besides that it was very bad for the bridge, which was a great expense to the county, so that he could be indicted on two counts. I was delighted with my fluency and at its effect on the man, but kept my eye on Marietta, who was on the point of wheeling but was too much interested to carry out her intention. The darky was most apologetic and polite and explained that it was not by his desire he was a fixture under the bridge, but that he had stuck there as he tried to get through.

"Worse and worse," I said, "as the tide rises you will carry off the bridge entirely!"

He did not know that I was talking really for the galleries, which meant the colt, though I felt provoked with the man for trying to get under the bridge with a flat too broad and a two-story house, you might say, on top—my own bridge over the same creek had been carried off in that way two or three years ago, and I found it would cost $200, too much, to have it put back, so that my sheep and cattle are entirely cut off from 300 acres of woods pasture, and that is a great loss to me; still I know too well the futility of words under such circumstances and it was merely to make time for Marietta to take in the unusual sight—the man explained that he hoped the tide would not rise any more and that when it began to fall he would try to back out and not undertake to get through again. I asked if there was any one else in the flat. He said yes. "Tell them to come out and let me see them and hear their names." So a man and a boy came out and stood on top of the house in the smoke and I lectured them as to the great blessing of having sense and using it. By this time Marietta was so deeply interested that she relaxed entirely and at once I shook the reins and told her to go over, which she did as quietly as possible, which I think was wonderful. I don't believe any power would have taken either of the other horses over, but Marietta is so reasonable. I took a long drive and by the time I came back the flat had gone.

March 7.

Had another letter from matron of Jenkin's establishment saying Rab is better but very weak and always calling for "Miss Pashun," and I have made up my mind as soon as I think he is strong enough to go down and bring him home. I have for a long time been suffering from a tooth, but felt it a great extravagance to make a trip simply to go to the dentist, but now that I must bring Rab home I will combine the two. I have been very worried about money and very miserable.

March 9.

Took the party down to Casa Bianca for the day, which we all enjoyed. Just as we got to the gate in the very narrow lane bordered with rose-bushes on each side, which takes the place of avenue at Casa Bianca, met a very large white-covered country wagon with four horses driven by two white men. The horses were terrified and it was very hard to get by without breaking up things.

I asked the men what they were doing in there, as it was strictly private property, and not on the way anywhere. The men were surly and refused to answer, and when I asked what they had in the wagon they still refused to answer and were disposed to be rude.

I have been much tried by having the plants in my once beautiful garden carried away and I feared this was a depredation. I stepped out of the buckboard, in which I was driving behind the wagon with the wise men, and walking to the great covered wagon parted the flaps and looked in. This seemed to enrage the man who appeared the owner, and we had quite a scene.

I was completely satisfied by my inspection, and when I explained my motive for wishing to know the contents the huge, florid wagoner seemed quite ashamed of himself for not having given a civil answer to my question as to what had taken them so far off the public highway and into my private grounds. He now vouchsafed the answer that he had gone in to buy a shad, and with many apologies on his part and much admiration of the beauty of the place we parted.

My wise men were most enthusiastic over the garden, where the camellias were in full bloom, though the azaleas were not yet out—Mr. Poinsett planted this garden somewhere between 1830 and 1835, was a scientific gardener and brought many rare plants from Mexico, among others the gorgeous Flor de la Noche Buena, which has borne in this country the name Poinsettia in his honor. There is very little left of the original garden, only the camellia bushes which have grown into trees and the Olea fragrans, Magnolia purpuria, and Pyrus Japonica. The cloth of gold, Lamarque and other roses which grew rampantly, rejoicing in congenial soil, have been carried off from time to time by visitors, and the hedge of azaleas has been almost destroyed in the same way.

Nat is watchman there, but of course he cannot prevent such things; he can only remonstrate. Thus far he has been able to protect the house.

I was quite touched by the interest of Mr. S. He was much impressed by the books, prints, etc., which have been shut for thirty years in the house and of course moth and rust have corrupted and done their work. As he looked over them he got quite excited and said:—

"Mrs. Pennington, say the word and I will send to Gregory and get boxes—this young man can go at once for them—and I will pack all these things for you and ship them to the north and sell them for you to the best advantage."

When I demurred he added: "It shan't cost you a cent; it will be a pleasure to me to attend to it. These things interest me and I cannot bear to see them perish. They are valuable and could bring you in a good sum."

I said: "I am much touched at your kindness, Mr. S., and thank you very much for your offer. I think you greatly exaggerate the value of these things. I sent on some of the most valuable this year to New York and got a pitiable result in money. I knew those things to have a value of about $600 at the least and I got $100.

"You would take all the trouble and expense of packing and transporting these things and when you went to dispose of them you would find nobody wanted to give anything for them, and the greater part would be treated as rubbish. You would be embarrassed by your effort to do a kindness.

"No, let them stay where they are, where they have a right to be, and where if they are rubbish, they are at least rubbish dear to my heart."

It was hard to make him accept a refusal of his kind offer. It is not the first time that offer has been made to me. I greatly appreciate the kindness which prompts such active interest, but I cannot accept it.

I cannot place my dear old possessions in such a position. Let them grow old comfortably unexposed to comment and criticism and above all appraisement. I do not defend my position—it is unreasoning and I suppose unreasonable; but unfortunately I am made that way. Mr. S., who is a practical and very kindly soul, was quite distressed at his failure to convince me. The commercial instinct is lacking in me altogether, I fear.

Cherokee, Sunday.

It was a great effort to go to church this morning, but I went and was rewarded. I enjoyed the service, and the short sermon was beautiful, on the 22d chapter of Genesis—Abraham's call to sacrifice his son, his only son, Isaac. It seems Isaac means laughter. Abraham in his great joy at this unexpected and belated blessing called the child Laughter. That makes the story more wonderful.

Gregory, Monday.

By to-day's mail I got a letter to say that Rab had been sitting up a week and for two days had been out of the house, so I suddenly made up my mind, ordered the buckboard, and told Bonaparte to prepare to go with me and drove down.

I had two delays on the road, one of about ten minutes at the ferry, and as I had left very late I missed the train by three minutes. I had driven six miles in a pouring rain. As it was bright when I left, and my buggy umbrella is faded and torn I had left that good friend at home, so I had to take the rain protected only by a small umbrella. And then to come to a hotel where there was no fire or means of warming!

However, these are occasions for showing one's philosophy, and I have not fretted at all, but amused myself imagining what it would be to live in a hotel, or hostelry of any sort, permanently. The thought made my strenuous, and sometimes a little hard, life seem ideal in spite of its limitations.

Cherokee, March 19.

Returned from Carrollton last night and was most pleasantly entertained at Woodstock. Brought poor, thin, shaky little Rab up as far as Gregory, having written to Jim to meet him at the train and take him to his house for the night.

The child seemed overjoyed to be coming home. Dab brought the buckboard and pair to Woodstock, without any catastrophe, at 10 o'clock. I drove into Gregory to Jim's house to pick up Rab.

I found him still beaming in a very feeble black way, and still grasping the coverless shoe box with which he had appeared at the station. Jim's wife said she had been glad to have him spend the night there, and her mother, who belonged to one of our most trusted families in the far past, came out and gave me a very beautiful blessing, which went to my heart, and at the same time made me laugh, as she began:—

"Po' little man! will ondertak t'ing too big fur um! But de Lawd'll bless um all de same," and so on indefinitely.

When we reached Cherokee the mystery of the shoe box was revealed. With trembling fingers Rab unrolled a gorgeous cup and saucer, rose adorned and with a heavy gilt band, which he presented most awkwardly to Chloe, and after some fumbling in the newspapers of the box produced a mint candy basket filled with broken bits of candy which he poked into Dab's hands. The effect was dramatic.

Chloe had not pretended to be glad of Rab's return, and her greeting had been cool, to say the least. Now she was so surprised as to be quite overcome. Dab had said to his confidants that as soon as I brought Rab home he would leave, for he knew he could not keep good with Rab here. The candy had a most pleasing effect upon him, so poor little Rab had a cordial home-coming at last.

When I went to the orphanage to see him and the arrangements were made for him to meet me the next day at the train his look of tremulous joy at the prospect of going "home" was very pathetic to me, for I knew I was the only creature who would greet him with pleasure there. I took out a quarter from my very empty purse and said:—

"Wouldn't you like to buy a present to take to Chloe and Dab?"

He answered with delight that he would. When he met me at the station with the very respectable and pleasant matron, his well-worn valise beside him very much stuffed out and the shoe box covered with newspaper tightly held in his hand, I supposed that was his lunch, but at Lane's when I asked him if he had any lunch he answered no, and I gave him some of mine. I wondered over the contents of the very unhandy package, but did not inquire about it.

I was greatly pleased at the success of his offerings and I think he chose very well.

Cherokee, March 20.

Wrote furiously for the mail, and by the time it came at 11 had ready letters containing checks to pay off all my debts, which is an immense comfort, though accomplished by the sale of things very dear to me. I am thankful now that is over.

I wanted to drive the colt, but felt too weak and worthless, not to say confused and discouraged, to attempt it.

March 21.

Drove Marietta to Peaceville and then in to Miss Penelope's, making about ten miles. She wanted to fight twice, but when I spoke to her and said "Mind your oats" she steadied herself and went beautifully, and I had the pleasure of giving her a generous portion of oats.

Gibbie gets out fifteen ears of corn for her at a feed, but I fear me she never gets more than five. The product of the patch behind his house planted in corn is unlimited. He is still selling corn weekly, ostensibly from it.

Bought fishing tackle, lines and hooks from Miss Penelope this morning and hired old Tiny to come and fix up the lines and go out fishing with Rab, hoping for a fish now and then to eat, and that it would prove a most peaceful, healthful way for Rab to pass his time, until he gets stronger.

March 22.

Went out to street to visit Gibbie and see if he was really ill or not. Found him sitting by the fire. I don't know whether there is anything the matter or not. Went to see Elihu's little daughter Juno, who is in a very bad way, so weak and emaciated that it is painful to see her.

March 23.

Ransom came to-day for money due him for making the chimney for the house I had fixed for poor Elihu to move the remnant of his family back home. I can ill afford it, but I thought the march of death might be impeded by their coming back where they were born, and besides I can help them by sending things to the ailing ones.

Ransom talked a great deal. I sympathized with him in the death of his grandchildren, Estelle's children. They seem to have developed a new disease which has puzzled the doctors—some acute condition of the eyes, inflammation producing blindness and eventually death. We have had for some years a clever graduate of Johns Hopkins in this region who is making a study of malarial diseases. He went North three months ago, and one of the negroes telling me of an illness when they had to do without the doctor, there being none within fourteen miles, said with an air of intimate understanding:—

"We doctor gone fu' lam fu' scrape eye. 'E say him don' kno' nuff 'bout dat, say him neber larn fu' scrape eye yet."

Ransom talked on, giving me the news of the colored world and the crops, etc. It consumes much time, but I try to lend a willing ear. Finally he said:—

"Miss Pashuns, I got a great tenks to gi'e you. You don' me a great good. Maybe you don' fu'git, but I 'member. You kno' dat time I bin een sitch big distruss? I los' me wife, I los' me ox, I los' me cow, en I come to you fu' help, en you mek answer en say: 'Ransom,' says you, 'I ain't got no money to gi'e you, but I kin p'int you to help. Wot's happen to you is happen befo' to anoder puson. Now you go home en tek yo' Bible down en look fu' de book o' Job, en you mek a prayer to de Almighty to open yo' mind fu' onderstan', en you read de book o' Job en study ober him.'

"Dat was yo' discose to me, en I gon right home en I tek down me Bible, en I fin' de Book o' Job; en, Miss Pashuns, I was dat 'stonish! Dey was all me feelin's, en all me suffering, en eben all me wud, rite dey; en I read, en I read tell de kumfut kum to me. En, Miss Pashuns, ma'am, my min' bekum quiet en happy en I neber is fret sence. So dat wus a presunt yu mek me dat time abuv gol', kase 'e kyant loss."

I was greatly amazed and touched, and I said:—

"Well, Ransom, you have returned the gift to me, and I thank you, for I have been terribly worried and harassed in mind and spirit, and you have brought to my mind where I can find help. I will turn to the Book of Job myself to-day."

Having begun on a real discourse, Ransom was not willing to stop. He went on:—

"Anoder t'ing I wants to tell you, Miss Pashuns. Las' Sunday week five o' we mens, all mauss nigger [negroes once owned by the same person; it is a bond of fellowship], meet in de road, en Joseph say:—

"'I wants to tell unna ob a wision I had. Las' nite I wake wid a big light een de rum, en I rub me eye en I look, en dey I see ole Miss; 'e stan' en 'e look on me—'e look nyung, 'mos' like a gal, but you cud tell rite off 'twas ole Miss, kase 'e had de full look o' she een 'e eye, en 'e dress was all w'ite en shine same like lightnin'; 'e wus too butiful. I look en I was dumb; 'e neber say not'ing, 'e jes' look at me so kynd en den 'e fade 'way. Now I wan' to kno' wha' dat signify. 'Tis a tokin fu' sartain, but wha' does 'e signify?'

"En I mek answer een dese wud: 'My bruder, 'e is a tokin f'r good sho'ly. Ole Miss is een Heben es sho' es you bawn.' En 'e say, 'Yo t'ink so? Yo' t'ink ole Miss is een Heben?'

"En I mek answer en says, 'Ef ole Miss ain't een Heben, den no mortal man or 'oman ain't dere. Now, Joseph, you kyas yo' mind back, en recomember how ole Miss fight wid we all fu' teach we, f'um de time him married ole Maussa—en dem was nyung den, en 'twas my pa dem bin teach den—ebry libing Sunday ole Miss hab ebery chile on de whole plantation en teech dem. Fust 'e teech "Our Fader praise," den de Ten Kummanment, den de "I belieb" praise, den w'en we kno' all dat, sose we kin say um widout stop, den 'e teech de wud o' de blessed Sabior, chapter at a time, till all we chillum w'at cudn't read, we hab we head chock full o' Scriptur.

"'Now w'en we dun say we Katakism den up kum Maum Mary wid de big cake een de wheelbarrer, en ole Miss kut um 'eself, en gib eech chile a big slice. I neber tas' sech cake sence, 'e had su much aig, en su much sugar, en su much short'nin' 'e mek me mout' water now, w'en I t'ink pun um.

"'Now, Joseph, I ax you if ole Miss ent mek she title clear to him manshun een de sky? 'E cud a bin a sleep, or 'e cud a bin a dribe out een de open karrige fu', wisit she fren', or 'e cud a bin a eat cake sheself, but no, Sunday afta' Sunday, kump'ny or no kump'ny, fo' o'clock Sunday ebning yu'le fin' ole Miss een de church Maussa build een de abenue, wid f'um fifty to one hund'rd chillum de wrastle wid dem ondirstand'in'.

"'I kin read now, but my breder, all de fulness o' my min' kum f'um dem Bible wud dat I got. I don't need no spectacle, I don't need no light, I kin jes' pore out de Scriptur to eny po' sinna I meets needin' um.'"

I cannot give any idea of the balm these simple words brought to my bruised and wounded spirit. I thanked Ransom with all my heart for his beautiful, earnest testimony to my dear mother's unwavering devotion to her duty as she saw it, from the time she came to the plantation as a bride of nineteen.

Before going Ransom wished me many blessings, and wound up by saying, "Miss Pashuns, I hope you is conwert?"

Quite alarmed, I asked him what he meant.

"I mean I hope you's got religion, ma'am."

"Oh, Ransom, I hope so."

"Well, ma'am, I'm glad to hear it, en I hope 'tis true."

He did not seem to feel quite satisfied about it, which was a great shock. I know, measured by the standard he had in mind, I fall very short. I must fly to Job at once.

Cherokee, March 24.

I have had the great pleasure of a short visit from my friend M. T. She had only a few days of rest from her work in the East Side Settlement House, and to my refreshment and delight she came to me. I love to hear of all the wonderful work done there.

On Thursday I had a most surprising letter from an unknown friend in New York, saying she had become interested in the children of my Sunday-schools and asking if she might send some little Easter presents for them. It was so unexpected and so delightful! I had no thought of being able to get anything for the children.

I wrote her at once, giving a list of the children of the three distinct classes in which I am interested. There is the class of little gentlefolk in the hamlet of Peaceville whom I teach in summer first, then the larger class at St. Peter's Mission Church out in the pine woods. These are the children of the white workers in turpentine. Finally there are the little darkies on the plantation whom I teach in winter, when I can get them. Their own churches, Methodist and Baptist, are very jealous and discourage their coming.

I wrote Miss W. that I sent them all, so that she could choose the class to which she would send presents, and told her how to address the package.

It rained heavily in the afternoon. Gibbie did not come, so I had to milk. I was perfectly delighted, because I got more milk from Winnie than either Gibbie or Dab has been getting. When I was in the mountains one summer I took regular lessons in milking, for the mountain folk milk beautifully, whereas the negroes are generally poor milkers. They never can take all the milk, and if you do not keep the calf to take the balance when the milking is over, the cow will go dry in a very short time. Leave a pint to-day and to-morrow there is that much less, and so on, a pint less every day. The cow is soon only fit to turn out to pasture.

You cannot teach what you do not yourself understand, so I took milking lessons, and as a teacher have been rather a success, but have been generally greatly mortified at the results of my efforts at milking myself. Hence my pride when Chloe said the milk was much more than usual. Chloe cannot milk, she draws the line there, and Bonaparte is still working on the pineland house four miles away, and does not come to the yard at all.

After taking the milk to the house I went to the barn-yard and fed the oxen. Gibbie had taken them out of the plough and turned them out in the rain with nothing to eat and had gone home. I gave them a good supper and then went home, changed my wet clothes, and had my tea and toast and then a delightful evening reading "The Power of Silence." A wonderful book, to my mind.

March 25.

Good Friday. B. and her dear little party arrived safely at 1 o'clock. It had poured all night and part of the morning, so I was anxious about them. The children are lovely, the baby like a sweet flower with her heaven touched blue eyes. Unfortunately their trunks went astray in some way and Dab returned with the wagon empty, except for the baby carriage.

Easter Sunday, March 27.

A beautiful day and charming service. The collection was for missions and our delight was great at finding it was a little over $12. It will pay up our apportionment. I drove our rector to church in Peaceville and then let him have the buckboard and Ruth to go on to St. Peter's, while I came home with my dear little neighbor, who dined with me.

A number of little darkies came to Sunday-school and sang very nicely. Lizette came for the first time. She is about 14, very tall and gawky, but with a good face. She knows not a word of the catechism, while Goliah and the other little ones say their Creed, the Ten Commandments, and that most comprehensive duty to God and duty to one's neighbor, glibly. The Easter hymn which they have been learning for a month, "Christ the Lord is Risen To-day," went beautifully. They left with great speed after receiving a double portion of candy in honor of Easter.

After they had gone, I went out to enjoy the exquisite afternoon, with its rosy golden light, and there at the foot of the steps was a huge snake. I looked for a long pole and killed it after a fight. While I was finding the stick it had got under the house, which made it harder to kill it. It did not seem quite dead and the puppy wanted to play with it, so I went into the yard and got the axe and chopped off its head, and as Prince, who has no country sense, still wanted to get the head, I buried it quite deep, all of which somewhat interfered with my enjoyment of the peace and beauty of the Easter gloaming. It makes one think, when these terrible discords come into the harmonies of a perfect day, must the trail of the serpent creep into everything?

Am I yielding to the temptation of getting too much amusement out of my dusky little scholars? Do I not agonize over them sufficiently? That may well be. It seems so hopeless to reach below the surface, so hard to influence the spirit, the life, by this hour's teaching once a week. Still I must do what I can; I cannot see them follow their blind leaders without making an effort to help them.

It does not come to them as it does to the heathen, who have never heard of God, as something new, a revelation. They hear great professions of religion and calls upon the Lord, and yet there is the daily example of deceit, faithless work, the snatching up of any and everything that can be stolen unseen. To be discovered is the only sin; you may lie, break any of the Commandments, only don't let it be found out. This going on daily, hourly, yearly, who but the Holy Spirit can contend against it? I constantly tell them that when they have all these good words stored in their minds, or rather their memories, and at their command, they have only to call them up, when Satan attacks them, to be able to defeat him. Even our blessed Saviour when tempted by the Evil One did not answer in his own words, but in the words of Scripture. "It is written," was the preface to his reply. I often feel that this is the greatest thing we can do for children, to store their minds with these powerful words, which will come to them in their hour of trial, as weapons against the deadly spiritual foe.

Sunday, April 3.

To-day I had the joy of distributing at St. Peter's-in-the-woods the pretty Easter eggs Miss W. had sent for the children. It was a joy to see the usually phlegmatic faces light up at the sight of the lovely things in the familiar form of an egg.

I asked the very pretty young mother who tries to keep the Sunday-school going all the time, though as she says she "has mighty little knolidge herself," to tell me the name of the best scholar. She answered very demurely: "It wouldn't do for me to tell you, Miss Patience; the best plan is for you to listen to the lesson an' then you can tell yourself."

When the lesson was said I found her little boy of 6 was far ahead of the others in saying his lesson and that was why she could not tell me. The next best was a boy of 14 who was, she said, the most punctual of all in attendance, coming a number of miles on foot in all kinds of weather, but he had no one at home to help him with the lesson.

"So, in reason," she said, "he couldn't know it as good as my little boy, fur I teaches him; but Joe does his best, en he aims to learn."

So I decided to give the rabbit about five inches high to him, and said: "Mrs. M. tells me you are so punctual in coming, Joe, that I am going to give you the largest one of the pretty things, which a kind friend away off in New York, has sent as an Easter offering."

To see the heavy, patient looking face suddenly light up and then fairly beam, when the rabbit was put into his hands, was too delightful. I did not look at him too hard, it was such a revelation of fourteen years of limitation and privation unconsciously borne.

I passed on and gave each child a most beautiful egg. They were all filled with little sugar eggs of different delicious flavorings.

To the children of the cities these things are all well known, but to these little pine wood children of nature they were heaven sent mysteries. When I had finished the distribution the big boy Joe came to me and said:—

"Hear, Mrs. Pashuns, my rabbit rattles!"

"Yes," I said, "he is full of little eggs."

"Will I have to break him to get at them? Fur I'd ruther not get um than to break him."

When I showed him how to take the head off, his content was complete.

Got home just before dark, tired and very hungry after the eighteen-mile drive and the two services, but having thoroughly enjoyed the day. It was very pleasant that it was our rector's day with us, so that I drove him out to the church and back instead of taking the drive alone.

Cherokee, April 4.

I am worrying as to how I am going to get seed rice. Some hands want to plant a field of rice, and it seems to me I ought not to be behind them in faith. If they are willing to risk their work, I ought to be willing to risk the seed rice. But the question is where to get it.

The great destruction of rice by the floods last summer has made seed rice very scarce and very high, and of course no one will be willing to sell it except for cash. However, I have promised to try and get it for the hands who want to plant Vareen.

While we were sitting at breakfast this morning Chloe came to the door and mysteriously beckoned to me. I rose at once and went out knowing something had happened by her tragic expression. When we were out of hearing from the dining room she said:—

"Miss Pashuns, Rab is shot 'eself."

"Good heavens, Chloe! Where is he?"

"Right to de pantry do'."

I flew out and there was Rab moaning piteously with the blood streaming from his left hand. It was no time to ask questions. I called for a basin of hot water and sent to my room for a roll of absorbent cotton and a bottle of turpentine and washed the wound, which was all burned with powder.

The missile, a jagged piece of lead, had gone straight through the hand, making a very ugly, ragged wound. How it got through the muscles, veins, and bones between the second and third finger without touching any of them is a wonder. The bleeding was not excessive. I packed the hole with cotton saturated with turpentine, both top and bottom, getting it as far into the wound as I could.

Poor little Rab behaved very well, did not scream, only the tears rolled down his very black face. After it was bound up securely, my niece fortunately having a roll of bandages with her, I asked him how it happened. He said he was playing with the plantation musket, trying to get out a piece of lead that was in it. He had the palm of his hand over the muzzle when he moved the trigger, with this result.

I did not scold him; what was the use? All my efforts to give him healthy and satisfying amusement and occupation in the boat have been in vain. He will not go with old Tinny, nor to fish at all unless Dab leaves his work to go with him. He is too weak to do any work, and there is nothing that he can be persuaded to do but play with some firearm.

Dab has done wonderfully well, for the house, of which I am generally the sole occupant, is now quite full, and Dab has the dining room work, which he does beautifully. He has confided to Chloe his disappointment about Rab. I have been terribly disappointed myself, but tried not to write about it, indeed I have tried to ignore it altogether. The child has been ill and got somewhat spoiled, as all sick people do who have any kind of good nursing, and then he is so weak and miserable now. Two days ago Dab rushed into the kitchen in great excitement and said: "An' Chloe, Rab is de very debil self! Not de debil son, nor him brudder, but him very self."

Chloe was delighted to sympathize on so congenial a subject and went on:—

"Rab los' all the manners he carry frum here, an' he ain't brought nutting back."

Poor little Rab during his five weeks' illness has got spoiled, and with his physical weakness, his temper gets the better of him more and more, that is all.

April 5.

A dear little cousin arrived this morning to make a long-deferred visit.

I found Rab's hand looking so ugly and swollen when I went to dress it that I determined to send him to Dr. G. in Gregory, for I am sure it needs a doctor's care. The hospital has been closed for lack of funds to carry it on, but I wrote to the doctor, who I know will do his best for the child. I wrote also to Jim asking him to keep him at his house, and I will pay him.

While I was writing the buckboard was being got and I drove Ruth as hard as possible to catch the mail man. I knew he had left Peaceville by that time and I had to calculate where I could strike him on the road. This I succeeded in doing, and put Rab in his charge, to be taken to the doctor at the hospital where he lives, though it is closed to patients.

It was all very fatiguing and exciting, and my heart was very sore for the poor little piece of black humanity, who has such terrible things to contend against within. I am so glad I was able to send him down at once. It has all broken in somewhat on my enjoyment of my guests, but I hope now the unusual excitements are over.

April 6.

This morning when I came downstairs I was surprised to see the table not prepared for breakfast, as Dab usually has finished all his dining room work by the time I get down. Chloe said she had sent Patty out to knock on the door of his house twice to wake him. She had knocked hard but he would not come out.

I walked out to the house to see if he was ill, opened the door, and he was not there. His valise which he always kept packed was gone, also the fine red blanket, which I bought back for him when he sold it last winter, was gone.

Though I had so often told him when he wanted to go just to tell me, and I would write a paper stating his capabilities and good qualities, so that he could get a good place, he had slipped away in the night! I was quite knocked down by this. The excitement about Rab had taken a good deal out of me, and now I was dismayed.

The house is full, and though Patty is a good little girl and specially eager to wait on table, she knows very little and my whole time during a meal has to be given to seeing that she does not lose her head, and do something very unusual, to say the least, but I now called her and told her she must take charge of the dining room, in addition to her other work.

She showed all her white teeth and expressed delight at that. I showed her exactly how to lay the breakfast table and what dishes to use, and then went up to my room to compose myself before the family came down.

Gibbie having determined to take a rest, as he very often does, had announced himself sick and Dab had been taking care of the horses as well as the cows. Fortunately Gibbie came out this morning, but when he came for the stable key I found that Dab had carried it off with him, also the poultry house key. They were tied together. I told Gibbie the keys were not in their usual place, and asked if he could manage to get in the stable without breaking the lock.

He answered that was very easy, and proceeded to roll the wagon with the rack up to the stable door, climbed into the loft with ease, and thence down the ladder into the stable, where he unbarred the back door. I was a most interested spectator, for now I understand how the horses are ridden at night, when the door is locked and the key hanging on its hook in the pantry. I did not tell Gibbie that Dab had the keys; I preferred to let him think I had mislaid them.

By the mail at 11 o'clock came a postal addressed to me with the keys attached. I am truly glad Dab had the decency to send them.

April 7.

A long and humble letter from Dab making his apologies as best he could for his very bad conduct and thanking me for all I had done for him and saying he had no fault to find with me, that he knew if he had come to tell me he would never have gone, intimating that it was with members of his own race he found it hard to get on; said he saw Rab every day and his hand was getting better. He wound up by begging me to give him a recommendation.

Meantime Patty is covering herself with honors and we are getting on very well.

My strawberries are fine, we are picking four quarts every day. Green peas are also bearing well. It is a great thing to have them now while the house is full. We had the first strawberries on April 11.

Rained hard all night, but cleared beautifully this morning; such a blessing to the young corn the rain was. L. wanted to see Casa Bianca, so we drove down there and had a delightful day. We got back in nice time, but Gibbie had gone home, so I had to take out the horses and then go down to the barn-yard to get out feed, as Bonaparte is still working on the house at Peaceville. I miss Dab terribly; he was so quick and always so ready to do everything.

L. went with me to get out the feed. She has lived in a city always, and it must all seem very strange to her. We counted out eighty-four ears of corn into the sack, and then the problem of getting it moved came up. It was still raining, and the horses were eagerly following us, almost walking over us.

L. kept them off with the lantern, while I attempted to drag the corn along. Just then Gibbie strolled up, to my great relief.

April 8.

Drove L. to Gregory to take train. She has kindly offered to take charge of Rab on his journey. I went to ask Dr. G. if Rab's hand was in condition for him to go. He said it was, that it had healed very rapidly, being perfectly healthy, and no longer needed to be dressed daily.

I think it wise to send Rab back to the institution of the worthy Jenkins. I dare not leave him at home with Chloe when I go away, as I must do in ten days to be absent a month, for there is no telling what he might do. As Chloe expresses it, he "discounts her altogether," and this craze he has for firearms makes her afraid to keep him. Under Jenkins's charge he will be well cared for, and at the same time kept out of mischief and made to behave.

I wrote to Jim yesterday to have Rab ready, as I would call for him this afternoon, and as I drove up Hattie came out with Rab's valise, and he followed with his arm in a sling, but looking much better. We drove rapidly to the train, just in time to get the tickets and get L. and her protÉgÉ on the train, before it was off.

I asked Rab as we drove down if he had seen Dab. He said he had very often, that he had got a place as butler, where he was getting $5 a week. I asked where it was, and after the train left, I drove to the house and asked to see Dab.

I told him I could not give him the recommendation I had expected to give him, because he had run away and left me as he had done; that I only wanted to see him to tell him to keep the place he had, and not to run from place to place. He seemed much moved, and so was I. I sat in the buckboard, and he stood by the hind wheel, so that I had to turn to look at him.

I gave him a little lecture, telling him that I had carried out my promise to his dying mother as far as I could, having taken much trouble with him, as well as being put to a good deal of expense, because of that promise, and that now he had taken the matter out of my hands by leaving me. All I demanded of him was that he should lead a respectable life and be industrious, honest, and upright, and I would be satisfied. When I turned to look at him the tears were rolling down his cheeks and he thanked me and said he would try.

I started on my lonely drive of fourteen miles about 6 o'clock.

My thoughts were ample company, for I have much to plan out.

All winter I have been looking forward with great pleasure to a visit from a charming English friend who stayed with me once a few years ago. She has made a trip around the world with her maid and physician and was coming here on her way from San Francisco to New York, but after a visit in Mexico, for some reason the physician thought it would be unwise for her to come to this remote plantation, so far from railroad, telegraph, and I suppose he thought from civilization. Mrs. R. wrote to tell me of her disappointment at this and to ask me to make her a visit in New York instead, and begging me to bring Chloe with me. This royally generous invitation I have accepted, and my mind is much occupied as how to arrange for the care of everything in the absence of two such important people as Chloe and myself.