Peaceville, November 3.

I drove up from Gregory alone yesterday, reaching the village just at dusk. I thought with delight of the peace and quiet of the pineland settlement after the distress and indignation which I had felt since I left it.

Dab ran to open the gate, and Chloe had a nice supper ready for me, but I felt something in the air that made me lose the restful feeling, and as soon as I had finished my dainty little meal and Dab had cleared away things Chloe came in arrayed in the spotless white apron and kerchief which I dread, for they mean something serious.

After a few trivial efforts on my part to keep on the surface, for I was so tired and did so wish to float a little while, Chloe cleared her throat and began:—

"Miss Pashuns, ma'am, I cry studdy frum Tuesday night till now."

"My dear Chloe," I exclaimed, really alarmed, "how distressing! Have you lost some of your family? Not your grandson, I trust!"

"No, ma'am, I wouldn't a-cried es much fu' dat! No, Miss Pashuns, dis is wuss! I cry en I cry en I cry."

"For Heaven's sake, tell me, Chloe, what has happened!"

"Miss Pashuns, I know it would dustress you so dat I wouldn't tell you till you dun eat yo' suppa, 'case I say maybe yu might faint 'way w'en yu hear."

"Oh, Chloe," I cried, "I will faint away now if you don't get on and tell me what has happened."

"Miss Pashuns, Dab shot Mr. 'Apa's dog!"

"Impossible, Chloe! When?"

Then followed a long narrative which I did not altogether understand, but she said: "Didn't bin fu my gone to see Mr. 'Apa an' cry an' baig um to wait till yu cum back Dab wud 'a' bin on de chain gang by now, fu Mr. 'Apa bin dun indict um, but I baig um for hab de case put off till yu cum back. Happen so I hear 'bout um een time."

I called for the lantern and went off at once to Mr. H. Chloe begged me not to go out alone into the night and said she thought Mr. H. and all the family would be in bed, but I felt I must know the worst before I went to bed.

When I knocked the door opened on a pretty picture of home, a beautiful young mother leaning over a six weeks' baby in a big rocking-chair used as a cradle and four boys sitting around the fire. I begged Mr. H. to speak with me a few minutes in the piazza, as I thought it best not to discuss the matter before all those boys, though it was certainly much more comfortable inside than out, for it was sharply cool. As soon as the door closed I exclaimed:—

"Mr. H., I am too distressed to hear that Dab has shot your dog! I cannot tell you how sorry I am! Is it dead?"

"No, Miss Pennington, he never shot the dog at all, and I don't think he meant to shoot him either. This is the way it happened:—

"I had been out on a deer hunt and was coming in a little after dark, my hound dog running ahead of me. I heard him bark at something when I got near my house, but it was too dark for me to see what it was till I heard the report of a pistol and saw the flash and the ball dropped near by me.

"When I got near enough to see it was Dab; he said the dog jumped at him and tore his pants and he shot to scare the dog, but he said he didn't shoot at him and I don't believe he did, but I indicted him because it was a very wrong thing for him to shoot right in the road that way; he might have shot some one; indeed he came mighty near hitting me, and he had no business shooting a pistol anyway; it's against the law.

"So I indicted him, but I told the Magistrate not to proceed till you got home."

I thanked him very much for his consideration and after making a little visit to the cosey party inside I went home. I asked him what I had better do, as I had not the faintest idea, never having had anything to do in law-courts.

He advised me to go and see the Magistrate and said that if any compromise could be made he would not push the case. He knew the punishment was a fine of $50 or thirty days on the chain gang.

I was quite overcome by his kindness and magnanimity in the matter and tried to say so, but by this time I was so exhausted that I fear I was not eloquent, to say the least.

This morning I interviewed Dab on the subject, speaking with all the force and wisdom I could. I cannot go to Judge H. until after to-morrow, for he will be busy with the election and have to go to Gregory, I believe—so I went to the plantation.

The quantity of peas gathered is most encouraging. I am quite delighted. I did not hope for half so many, and now the vines are being cut for hay with still a great many pods on them. It has not been cold enough yet to blast them.

The colts are growing finely and came running up as soon as they saw me. All the creatures, horses, cows, pigs, and sheep, are well, and I derived my usual refreshment and brightening by a few hours spent in God's good fresh air with the dumb things and the faithful trees, and came home quite cheerful and serene.

Peaceville, November 4.

I had a sleepless, miserable night; the thought of Dab's going to the chain gang for firing a pistol was too distressing, and I saw no possibility of raising $50. It was a great comfort to me that Mr. H. did not believe there was any malice or premeditation in the act, but I knew very well there were others who would think differently. I have no idea what the mental attitude of the magistrate will be.

I talked with Dab a long time and told him that while I would protect him always from injustice I would never support him in defying the law in any way. I recalled to his mind what a long fight I had made with him about a pistol, how when he was a little fellow and somehow got hold of a pistol which looked as though it might be the Adam of all firearms, I had a procession formed, he leading, Rab following, and I bringing up the rear, down to the creek, and there I made him give me the weapon and I threw it as far as I could out into the water.

It is very hard to know whether Dab is impressed or not. I told him how miserable it would make me to see him go to the chain gang after all the trouble I had taken with him, hoping to see him grow up a respectable, honest man. I could not keep the tears from coming now and then, but Dab's black face was sphinx-like in its immobility. I told him I had not $50 to pay, and that all I could do would be to go to the magistrate and plead the fact that it was his first offence, and that he did not really understand what a serious matter it was to fire a pistol on the public highway.

November 5.

Drove up this morning to see Mr. H. about Dab's case. He lives at one of the old plantation homes, which has passed into new hands. I have never seen it since, and was quite moved in going there. It is a long, rambling house, a stone's throw from the Pee Dee River, surrounded by live oaks.

I left Dab to hold Ruth some distance from the house, out of ear-shot. Mr. H. was holding court, so I could not see him at once, but his wife asked me in to the spick and span clean house and showed me her beautiful begonias, of which she asked me to accept cuttings, which I was pleased to do. When Mr. H. arrived I made my plea for Dab, and Mr. H. relieved my mind by saying as it was a first offence and Mr. A. was willing not to push it, he would try to arrange it "as light as possible."

He would send the Sheriff in a day or two for Dab, telling him to take the handcuffs along but not to use them unless Dab resisted arrest; but that if he came quietly, gave up the pistol and answered all questions frankly, he thought it could be arranged. He then set going a phonograph and treated me to "Rock of Ages" as sung by Trinity church choir, New York. O tempora, o mores!

I returned home, the horizon of my experience enlarged in an unexpected direction, wondering over the kindness of people generally, but very weary and worn with anxiety.

November 6.

The Sheriff came for Dab this morning while he was currying Ruth. Dab got his pistol from an old stump in the woods where he kept it hid, and gave it up and went quietly along. I do hope he will behave properly; he is always so respectful to me, but Chloe tells me he is not so to every one. If only the green-eyed monster could be eliminated, life would be easier.

10 p.m. I was so restless this morning that I had to write a few lines. Then I went to the plantation and about 3 o'clock I started back and met Dab on the road, returning, looking somehow solemn and made over. I was overjoyed to see him and tried to extract from him some account of his experience, but in vain.

His stammer was terrific, and all I heard was that Mr. H. read the law at length to him and impressed upon him that as it was his first offence and I had guaranteed that it would never occur again he would only have to pay costs, but that if ever again he carried a concealed weapon and shot it within fifty feet of a public highway it would go hard with him. I feel too thankful and relieved for anything.

November 8.

Sunday. A very beautiful day, and I am always influenced by that, so I begin to feel rested and more cheerful. We had a very pleasant service in the little chapel, and though both the alto and myself were hoarse the hymns were comforting.

My little Sunday-school children came in the afternoon and were very sweet. The lesson may not do them much good, but it does me a great deal.

Cherokee, November 11.

Got down to the plantation early, expecting to send Gibbie out with the ox wagon to move the heavy things. Found he had sent a message to say he was sick—a sad state of things, hands digging potatoes and no one to plough down the beds. I went to see Gibbie to see if he were really sick or only resting after his month's night hunting.

I found him ill. I fear pneumonia. He is not strong enough for all that exposure at night. I refrained from saying "I told you so," but spoke very sympathizingly to him. His poor breath was so short; almost a pant.

I prescribed for him until we could get a doctor and had his wife lay a square of bacon skin sprinkled with turpentine over the side where the pain was. Then I sent for Green and told him he must take charge of the stable and cows until his brother should be out again, that I would let it go on his debt. He was very civil and said he would do his best, which was a great comfort. It has been a perfect day—bright, crisp, cool—and now that the effort is over it is delightful to be back in the large, pretty rooms of the Cherokee house, with everything pleasing to the eye within and without, and I feel very grateful to the Good Father. This is my mother's birthday and I would have liked to lay some flowers on her resting-place, but it was not possible, so I will go to-morrow.

Sunday, November 12.

Started very early and drove to Gregory with a great basket of beautiful roses. Was in time to attend service in the old church of Prince George—then I drove in to Woodstock and dined with my brother and was beguiled by the beautiful afternoon to stay rather late for my long drive alone.

The key to my front gate at Cherokee had been misplaced, and so I had to drive through the barn-yard way, which made it necessary to open four gates. It was quite dark by the time I reached the house and I was surprised to find it shut up and without a light. I tied Romola and went all around to try each door, but in vain; there was no one, and I concluded that Chloe had supposed I would spend the night at Woodstock and had gone in the woods to visit her sister.

Romola was weary and reluctant to start out again, but I determined the only thing to do was to go out to Bonaparte's house in the "street" and get him to come and break open a window for me to get in. I found it very hard to open all the gates again, but I got to the street safely and there I found Chloe. She said she had gone after Rab, who had stayed out late playing with the children, and she was afraid to stay alone at the yard, having just heard of little old Grace's death, my former cook, whom I was expecting to come back.

November 14.

Great excitement over the illness of my little grade Guernsey heifer Winnie. I had three people working on her from 11 till 4. To-night she seemed better.

Gertie is going to be married, so I have taken a new girl, to be here a week before Gertie leaves and learn something from her. When I asked Gertie what she wanted me to give her as a wedding present, she answered, after much bridling and what would have been blushing if her onyx hue had permitted, "Ef you could, ma'am, I'd like the 'sperience dress."

"And what do you wish for that dress?"

"Pearl gray cashmere, please, ma'am."

"That sounds very pretty and bridelike, Gertie, but I'm afraid it will be expensive."

"Yes, ma'am, 'e cos' 20 cent a ya'd to Gregory."

Much relieved to hear the price, I promised readily to get it. I have already provided all the materials and had the cake baked for her.

November 15.

Was particularly busy this morning when old Katie arrived. She comes about once in two weeks to ask for whatever she needs, and has done so for years, and I clothe and feed her in this way, giving her just what she asks for. Wonderful to say, this time she brought me a present of four eggs and I was quite touched. I gave her four quarts of rice, some grist, a small piece of bacon, and some milk, and after the politeness of the moment I returned to my work. Had not been fifteen minutes when old Louisa came with a little present of potatoes and a long appeal for sympathy and a letter from her daughter which she wanted me to answer for her. This took a long time. I addressed and stamped an envelope which I enclosed, so that Louisa will certainly get an answer.

Just returning to the putting down of the carpet, which I have to superintend most carefully in every detail, when a man came to ask to rent the estate farm on the sea-shore, so that I only got two carpets down, and finished those very late.

My good Chloe is in very bad humor, and things are difficult. She is furious at my having taken Gibbie to milk and cut wood and be about the yard, though she acknowledges that he does his work well, but he does not come of a family from which house servants used to be taken, and all the negroes resent his elevation to employment around the house, though he does not enter it except to bring in wood, which he does faithfully.

December 1.

Have been worrying a great deal lately about the taxes; they are nearly $200 and I do not know where the money is to come from. Mr. S., who has for several years visited this section buying rice, has written to me several times asking if I had any rough rice to sell. I did not answer from sheer lachesse. I hated to say that I had none. The little I have made this year I must keep for seed. To-day I drove to Gregory and met Mr. S. in the street, and he stopped me and asked if I had never received his letter. I answered just the truth, that I had no rice at all this year except seed rice, and only a little old rice left over, on which I had been feeding my stock, and I knew he did not want that, but he asked me to send him a sample of that at once, which I gladly promised to do.

I bought the pearl gray cashmere for Gertie's "'sperience" dress, a lovely looking soft stuff, truly only 20 cents a yard; cotton, I suppose, but very pretty. Gertie was enchanted and said it was exactly right. Fashion is as exacting with them as with the highest social layer, and not to comply with what is just the last touch of elegance for a bride would be terrible to Gertie.

When I offered to give her the wedding dress she said it must be fine white lawn, and she would rather get it herself, as she knew where to get the finest, that means about 15 cents a yard, and she will have it made up in the latest fashion for 75 cents or $1 at the utmost.

December 7.

Took the long drive to Gregory again to receive and bring up a mare that has been sent me to keep for the winter. Having no one whom I can trust to go to Gregory without visiting the great moral institution, the Dispensary, I have to go myself and take Cable with me to lead the horse back. I have never taken him anywhere with me before, but he is a quiet, civil spoken negro, and comes of good family, and is not deaf like Gibbie, so I hired him to-day.

Met Mr. S. and he said he had written to offer $1 for one sample of rice and $1.05 for the other. I told him the letter had not reached me, but I would accept his offer. I tried not to let him see how surprised and delighted I was. After this I positively tread on air, for behold the tax problem solved, as I have nearly four hundred bushels.

To make my heart still lighter, Jim came to ask if he might speak to me, and he is anxious to come back. I think I discouraged him, unless his wife is willing to move into the country with him. He represents that he is getting very high wages, which he also represents that he certainly earns, for to use his own expression he "delivers a cow a day on his bicycle!" This marvellous statement means that he is working with a market, and delivers the supplies on a bicycle instead of a delivery wagon.

He says his health is wretched and he pines to come back to the country and to Ruth and Dandy and the other horses. I told him I could not possibly pay the wages he was getting, but he said he could save more with less wages in the country, which of course is true.

Altogether the day was a pleasant one in spite of fatigue and anxiety as to Nana's successful leading home. I proposed to Cable to ride her, but he seems very timid about horses, and though all battered and bruised from rough usage on the railroad she was full of spirit and anxious to have her own way.

I was afraid we might have trouble at the ferry, for Nana is a mountain horse and had never seen a ferry, accustomed to a bridge or a ford, and it would be decidedly awkward if she took a notion to ford the Black River, as it is (more or less) sixty feet deep at the ferry. I had behind the buckboard a bale of fruit trees from Berckman's done up in rye-straw, with the heads of rye left on. This Nana was so eager to get a good bite of, that she followed into the ferry without noticing where she was going, but when she found the flat in motion, she seemed frightened. I told Cable to let her eat all the rye she wanted and even the precious fruit trees, rather than have her begin to fight, and all went well. She stood quietly eating while we crossed.

December 8.

Not having yet succeeded in getting any one to patch the boiler to the threshing mill, I determined to go myself to Waverly and try to get some one. I sent Bonaparte to measure the cracks that I might take the measurements over with me, and told Gibbie to get the red boat ready for me. Gibbie, who is very deaf, did not hear "red" and I found him tugging at my white boat, which is up under the piazza, waiting to be caulked and painted. Fortunately I passed by and saw him, for it was an impossibility for him to move it unaided. I succeeded in making him understand that he was to bring the red boat from the barn-yard to the house-landing for me.

I went in and turned the eggs in the incubator, filled and trimmed the lamp, donned my boating outfit, and went to the landing. A long wait and then Gibbie appeared, looking hopeless. "Miss, I kyan' fin' Bony no ways, en 'e got de oah en de oahlock shet up een de bahn."

I expressed great impatience at this. Bonaparte should not lock up my oars. I always have kept them at the house, but poor Bonaparte knows his own race so well that he has an infinite distrust of them and locks up everything until it has become a mania.

Having suggested every possible place to find Bonaparte, at last I said: "Have you looked in the boiler?"

"No, ma'am," with a wondering look.

"Well, look in there at once."

He soon returned at a run to say that "Uncle Tinny and Uncle Bony were both in the b'iler" and wanted a lantern. This was sent, and after a prolonged pause they both appeared with the measurements of the cracks.

I patiently tried to understand Tinny's explanation as to where the holes were, but in vain. At last I said: "Anthony, you just get in the boat and go over to Waverly with me and you can explain to Captain Frank where the damage is, so that he will know what materials to send when he sends a man."

"But, Miss, I ain't fix fo' go. Ef yo' been tell me yo' wan' me fo' go to Wav'ly wid yo', I'd a dress maself, but I ain' fix; look a' me."

I looked, and truly the little gnome was an object—an old, tattered derby hat, with the mellow green tint of age, a very dirty new bright green and white plaid shirt, which only emphasized the extraordinary patchwork nether garments and coat, from the pocket of which conspicuously protruded a bottle.

With a grave face I assured the old man that he was quite decent and must go, and that as he was a fine paddler he could paddle while Gibbie rowed and we would go like a steam tug. This reconciled him to going in his working trim, and we started—I sitting in the bow with Tag, my nondescript terrier, Gibbie in the middle with oars, and the gnome at the stern paddling.

All this delay had consumed hours and the sky had darkened and it felt like rain. Chloe came to the wharf to beg me to wait, but I had wasted so much time and patience that I could not put it off.

I soon found it was a special mercy that I had caught old Tinny and made him come, for Gibbie proved a poor oarsman and the wind was against us and very high, so though we had the tide our progress was not rapid, and I was glad to have the old man, who knows all about boats. With the head wind Tag and I, high in the bow, were a great disadvantage. I longed for Elihu, for I would have felt safer with him.

To make things worse, when we got into the broad Waccamaw where the whitecaps were dancing, a steamer passed up the river, making such big waves that Tinny wanted to turn back without crossing, but I was not willing, as we were more than halfway to the mills, and to my surprise Gibbie supported me and we went on. Fortunately I had taken what the negroes call an "'iler," a heavy rubber coat, to put over my knees. I had amused myself with pencil and pad, writing until the pad got too wet, for the water dashed in constantly. Poor Tag, straight up on his hind legs in the bow, looked out with dreary eyes, for at the best of times he hates water, and no doubt he said to himself that if he were a human he would have more sense than to leave a bright fire and comfortably carpeted room to be dashed and splashed in this way.

However, we reached the mill safely, and if only I had been successful in my errand, I would not mind, but Captain L. said he could not possibly spare any workman to send. This was a great blow, for I had written to him in June about it and he promised to send some one to repair the boiler, even naming a day when he would come. I do not know what to do now, for he knows all about such work and could tell me exactly what it was best to do, and I have such confidence in him. I did so wish to get the very little rice I have threshed out before Christmas. I will have to try to get a man from Gregory.

As I rowed up to the mills I came upon a flat heavily loaded with lightwood and recognized two of my men on it. I said, "Why, Billy, what are you doing here? Whose wood is that?"

"De my own."

Now I know why I have had so much trouble in getting my wood cut and sold. I had put Billy in charge and he has been steadily stealing my wood, he and his brother together, shipping it in a flat owned by their father, who is a gentleman of leisure living on his own land on a pension which he receives from the great Government of these United States.

Of course I will have to send Billy and Sol off the place after this discovery, for as Billy had been put in charge of the cutting and flatting of my wood and has so betrayed his trust, I cannot let him stay, but he will move to my neighbor's and continue no doubt to steal my wood, as his father's farm is very near my line. It is ten acres. Though every one on the place has known all summer what was going on, no one would give me the least hint of it, and I never would have known it if I had not made this trip to Waverly and come upon them in the act of unloading twelve cords of splendid lightwood. Of course it would be useless to take any legal steps when it is impossible to get testimony.

I got back very weary; it is astonishing how true the old saying is, "A cheerful heart goes all the day, while a sad one tires in a mile," and mine was very sad on the way home.

Cherokee, December 9.

Was very busy this morning writing letters to catch the mail which passes my gate at 11, when they came in to say that Annette wanted to see me "pa'tick'ler." I went out and said, rather shortly: "What can I do for you, Annette? This is a busy day and you must talk quickly." Annette twisted her hands together nervously once or twice, and then answered: "I came to baig you to make my will, ma'am."

"Why, Annette, do you feel ill?"

Her head went down and her apron came up, half covering her face, and she said:—

"No, ma'am, but I 'spects to be married again. I bin a fateful wife to St. Luke en' I bin a fateful widder to 'im f'r t'ree year; but now a very 'spectable man is co't me, en' I'se to be married next week, en' I wants to put all St. Luke proppity to 'e chillun, de house en' de fa'am between dem, en' de cow fer Annie, en' de two heffer between dem. De man I gwine marry got 'e own house en' fa'am, en' 'e seem to speak en' act very fair, but I wan' to lef' St. Luke chillun secure."

I was so delighted at this evidence of Annette's intelligence, knowledge of human nature, and loyalty to her dead husband's interest, that I forgot all about my important letters and drew up a most impressive document which I had her sign in the presence of three witnesses, being the disposal of real estate. She only "teched de pen," that is, put her hand on the end of the pen while I wrote her name, and she made a mark. When the will was satisfactorily executed she wanted me to keep it, but this I declined to do, advising her to give it into her mother's care, if she preferred not to keep it herself.

December 10.

Went to church, though there was a gale blowing and the trees looked very dangerous buckling and bending over the road. Ruth behaved well, though she did not like it. When I got back, bringing L. to dinner with me, I found Jim waiting to see me, having ridden up from Gregory on his bicycle. He said he wanted to come back, that his wife was not only willing but anxious for him to come, as she had no pleasure in his life in town, he was so ailing and worked so hard. He begged me to take him. The only thing he wanted to ask was that I would let him spend every Sunday in Gregory, for he sang in the choir in his church and didn't want to give up the music. I told him I would always do so if possible, but that there might be circumstances which would make it impossible to spare him on Sunday.

He cannot come until he gets some one to take his place, but as he is coming I will put off the meat curing and sausage making until he comes, for my mother taught him the best way of doing all that, and it makes it so much easier than undertaking it with a green hand. Jim is to do almost everything, under our present agreement; but Gibbie is still to milk and to keep the stables clean and cut wood for the house.

December 11.

Lent Bonaparte the ox wagon and team to go to Gregory and lay in his household supplies. Sent a note to Billy P.—and his brother, who had been selling the lightwood for themselves instead of for me, telling them to leave the place with their families at once. Of course I should have taken the money for the wood, but I could not make up my mind to do that without some legal process, and as I could not get any witness to testify against them any legal process was impossible. If I had ordered them to give me one-half the money, quite possibly they might have done it; but they might have refused to do it and I would then have been powerless. I am very careful not to give any order which I cannot have obeyed.

December 12.

Billy and Sol came to beg me to let them stay until January, but I told them I had trusted them and they had betrayed my trust and must go at once. I hate to lose their wives, who are good workers, and their little children, who come to say catechism and sing hymns and have a stick of candy every Sunday afternoon. Sol's wife, Aphrodite, is such a specimen of health and maternal vigor that I delight to see her going to work with her procession of little ones behind her. The men themselves are strong, able-bodied workers, and I shall miss them; but once having begun to depredate upon me, nothing will stop them.

I find now that recently they have been living out of my vegetable garden, and the potato banks have been robbed and there are dark hints as to their guilt in that, too. I told them they must whip their rice out by hand at once so as to pay their rent, and take the rest with them. It is a sad state of things that one is unable to secure redress in any way for depredation, and so the only thing to do when a tenant goes wrong in this way is to send him off, so that unless one winks at evil deeds or condones offences, one will soon be without hands entirely.

December 13.

Yesterday, driving out, I saw a raft of very fine poplar logs being made down by the bridge in the creek, and this morning I walked out to see whose logs they were. I have on my woodland across the creek some very beautiful poplars, some of them about three feet in diameter at the base. I have several times been offered a price for them, but have always answered: "When I am in need of bread I will sell those trees, but not before." Now I feared some one might have cut them, hence my desire to inquire about the raft.

I found Jack and Monday at work on the raft, which was composed of splendid pine as well as poplar logs. Both of these men had belonged to my father and now own farms and woodland of their own about two miles away. They assured me the logs all came from their own land and had been hauled with their own ox teams. I complimented them on the size and beauty of the poplar, and just at that moment Daniel, another one of our former people, now a prosperous landowner, came by in his canoe, and I took passage with him up the creek to my woodland, as I wanted to make sure that my poplars were still standing.

As I got out at the landing I offered to pay him, but he said: "Oh, no, Miss; you don't owe me a cent. I was just on my way home, and I'm glad to have de chance to do it for you."

I thanked him suitably for his pleasant feeling. At the landing there was a raft tied of very large logs. I asked Daniel whose it was and he said it belonged to Frank and Logan, who were cutting on my land. I was greatly shocked. Logan is the son of one of my father's most trusted servants who died a few years ago leaving eight sons and three daughters grown up and married. He was a first class engineer and blacksmith and could be counted upon always to do faithful, good work. His sons had most of them followed his trade after a fashion, and all of them had what is now called education (without, however, any training) and are smart men; but not one of them has the character, the thoroughness, the reliability, of the old man, who could neither read nor write, but who had been trained to do one thing as well as it could be done.

The sons have, one by one, left my service to go where there was more demand for their work and more pay, but a kindly feeling has remained between us. They are all prosperous, living on farms of their own.

Some months ago Logan brought Frank, a stranger to me, to ask to handle the fallen pine trees on my land and give me one-third of the proceeds. They said they had fine ox teams and each had a logging cart and were fixed for the business. After thinking over it a while I consented, for I had been over the land and knew that there were many fine large trees blown down by the storm which would only rot on the ground if I refused, for I had no reliable hands to get them to market myself. I made them sign a paper saying they were to cut no trees, only to take the prostrate pine, and was quite pleased when the arrangement was completed.

The results had disappointed me, being much less than I had supposed they would be. Every now and then they brought me $8, with account of a raft in Captain L.'s hand-writing showing the amount of my third, and I had been suspecting that they were carrying many rafts to Gregory and selling them on their own account, not giving me the third, but I did not see how I could find out the truth. They had come to me in the winter to ask permission to "dead" some cypress. This means to ring the cypress so as to kill it, otherwise it cannot be handled; it will not float if green.

I refused to give permission for this, and a short time afterward they asked to be allowed to cut some poplar. This I forbade with horror, and they went away. Now the sight of this raft made me understand of what treachery they had been guilty toward my trees.

I counted the logs—twenty pine, four cypress, and two poplar; then I walked out into the woods and soon came upon Logan with his team hauling a splendid log and Frank not far behind with another. Just for a moment, as I stood waiting for them to come up, it flashed through my mind what a rash thing perhaps I was doing, as both of these men are rather ugly tempered. I had sent Daniel off with his boat, thinking some one might come along the creek by the time I was ready to go back. No one at the house had the least idea where I was, for I had not intended making this extended trip when I left.

When the men came up I taxed them with having done what I had expressly forbidden them to do. At first they were disposed to be rude and answered roughly, but I went on very quietly, using all the self-control possible, to tell them that they had violated their contract and put themselves entirely in my power; that I needed no witnesses, for my own eyes had seen what they were doing. Gradually their whole manner changed. One hat went off and then the other and Logan came a step or two nearer, and with a most dramatic air of humility and penitence said:—

"Miss, you right; en we cry guilty, guilty! We own um, we's guilty, en you know, miss, w'en a man stan' 'e trial een de co't, en dat man cry guilty, de jedge don' put de law so heaby to um. We dun wrong, miss; we egkno'ledge we sin, en we pleads yo' mussy!"

I was completely taken aback. I was prepared for anything but this, and I had no idea what to say in my surprise. While I considered they stood with bowed heads, eyes fixed on the ground, and every air of complete surrender. I was disarmed, and of course did not follow up my victory as I should. I gave them a little discourse on judgment and mercy and on the awful sin of deceiving and taking advantage of one who had trusted one. Then I told them they could take the timber they had cut and hauled, to market and give me half instead of one-third, and that after selling these logs they must not touch a stick of timber of any kind again.

With expressions of profound thanks they led the way down to the swamp as I told them to do, and showed me all the trees they had cut. It was heartrending to see the havoc they had wrought, and which nothing could undo. It took away my breath almost for a time, and I felt almost as though I had been wrong not to proceed against these men and have them brought to justice. I knew perfectly I would get no money to speak of from them.

It is impossible for me to watch the woodland and swamp myself—if there is no one to see after my interest there it is indeed hopeless. Bonaparte used to do it, but now he seems to have been intimidated in some way, and will not undertake to see after it at all.

December 14.

It poured heavily all day. At 1 o'clock they came in to say the wagon had come for the cotton. Of course I could not send it in the rain, and I had to send the man back. He was very wet and cold and I gave him some potato pudding and milk, all that was ready. The gin is about twelve miles away and I had engaged them to send for my cotton to-day. It was folly to send in the rain. Still I suppose I will have to pay for it.

Chloe went to St. Cyprian's last night and had much to tell of the service and her approval of the sermon. She said Mr. G. was "a good preacher en preached de pure gospel." She told me she had walked back with old Anthony and that he praised the sermon and then told her of his dissatisfaction with his minister, a Baptist. She said:—

"Br'er Tinny say, him don' like de preacher dem got; say dem ax de man fo' preach out to Tolson village, en as him had to cum clean f'um Gregory ebrybody carry 'nuf money for t'row een, but w'en him beggin fo' preach dem fin' him preach politiks, en slur, en Latin, en dem 'ordn't t'row een dem money, en de man neber git but one dollar en a half f'um dat big crowd o' people."

"Well, Chloe, you will have to tell me what preaching 'slur' means."

"Miss Pashuns, dat mean him hol' up him perfesshun high, en him scandalize all dem oder Christianity, en dat mek dem feel shame en dem didn't like dat. Him bin a Babtist, yu see, en de chutch bin full o' Methodist."

"Oh, I understand now. That was very bad indeed; now tell me what does preaching politics mean?"

"Dat mean stid o' preach de gospel of de Lord, him bin a talk 'bout de State en de law, en de guberment, en 'e got dem all tangle up en dem mind."

"They certainly showed their sense, Chloe, when they objected to that, for they went to church for heavenly instruction; but tell me what preaching Latin meant."

Chloe seemed to be a little tired of my questions and to think me dull, which is not my ordinary trouble, but she explained:—

"Well, Miss Pashuns, yu kno' 'tain't ebrybody kin onderstan' Latin, en w'en dis man kum to a place wey him hab nuthin' sensible fer said, him sta'at fu' ramble een a kin' o' gibbish en nobody c'udn't onderstan', en de man's self c'udn't onderstan'. Br'er Tinny say you c'ud look een 'e eye en see him jes' bin'a wander. Him didn't hab nuthin' fu' say; so him didn't t'row een him money, en say w'en he yeddy[3] Animus Brown is fu' preech him stay home."

I was quite amazed that little old man Tinny should have such power of discernment, and also such apt terms to describe and size up his preacher, and I was truly thankful he recognized the difference in Mr. G.'s doctrine and methods.

The darkies have a wonderfully keen insight into character. It is almost as if by instinct they know the genuine article from the imitation, the gilt from the gold. When you look at Anthony you would not think he knew anything more than a sparrow sees with its beady black eyes. He is very dried up and little, with those very same beady eyes. I think a great deal of the old man; he makes me a present of a huge pumpkin every year, and after many efforts to find out what he would like in return I make my present.

Sometimes I am baffled as to what he would like and give him money. If I do this, the very next day he hangs his shoes on a stick over his shoulder and walks down to Gregory, fourteen miles away, invests his cash in firewater and walks back home, all with a little shuffling gait which makes it hard to believe he could walk twenty-eight miles a day.

December 18.

This afternoon Gibbie came to say that his mother was very low and so he would not be able to milk, so I took Goliah to the cow stable to help Bonaparte milk and then to put up the horses. Many little negroes of Goliah's size are good milkers, but he has no skill in that line at all, though he is remarkably clever and useful with horses.

December 19.

Both yesterday and to-day I got up very early and went out to the stable to help Bonaparte. It is very provoking of Gibbie to absent himself in this way, for I find he is not waiting on his mother, who has her husband and three other sons and their wives devoted in their services, while Gibbie is just idling along the roads.

December 20.

A perfect day, the air warm and balmy. On my way home from church heard of Eva's death. She was a simple, faithful soul, always diligent, working hard in her large field around her house and giving freely of the produce to her five sons, four of whom have families, but none of them has inherited her working, faithful nature. I will miss her greatly.

I had a good attendance of darkies at Sunday-school this afternoon. I was so pleased to see the children all so clean and nicely dressed, and they behaved so well. There were fourteen girls and fifteen boys, most of them between 10 and 14 years of age. After they have gone over the Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the Ten Commandments several times, with explanatory remarks from me, they repeat after me a hymn, this time: "While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night," preparatory to Christmas. Then I go in to the piano and have the girls in the room, while the boys stand by the window; and they all sing À faire peur.

She was a simple, faithful soul—always diligent.