University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.
MAGNOLIA GROVE.

Judge Clayton was not mistaken in supposing that his
son would contemplate the issue of the case he had defended
with satisfaction. As we have already intimated,
Clayton was somewhat averse to the practice of the law.
Regard for the feelings of his father had led him to resolve
that he would at least give it a fair trial. His own turn of
mind would have led him to some work of more immediate
and practical philanthropy. He would much preferred to
have retired to his own estate, and devoted himself, with
his sister, to the education of his servants. But he felt that
he could not, with due regard to his father's feelings, do
this until he had given professional life a fair trial.

After the scene of the trial which we have described, he
returned to his business, and Anne solicited Nina to accompany
her for a few weeks to their plantation at Magnolia
Grove, whither, as in duty bound, we may follow her.

Our readers will therefore be pleased to find themselves
transported to the shady side of a veranda belonging to
Clayton's establishment at Magnolia Grove.

The place derived its name from a group of these beautiful
trees, in the centre of which the house was situated.
It was a long, low cottage, surrounded by deep verandas,
festooned with an exuberance of those climbing plants
which are so splendid in the southern latitude.

The range of apartments which opened on the veranda
where Anne and Nina were sitting were darkened to exclude
the flies; but the doors, standing open, gave picture-like

gleams of the interior. The white, matted floors, light
bamboo furniture, couches covered with glazed white linen,
and the large vases of roses disposed here and there, where
the light would fall upon them, presented a back-ground of
inviting coolness.

It was early in the morning, and the two ladies were enjoying
the luxury of a tête-à-tête breakfast before the sun
had yet dried the heavy dews which give such freshness
to the morning air. A small table which stood between
them was spread with choice fruits, arranged on dishes in
green leaves; a pitcher of iced milk, and a delicate little
tête-à-tête coffee-service, dispensing the perfume of the most
fragrant coffee. Nor were they wanting those small, delicate
biscuits, and some of those curious forms of corn-bread,
of the manufacture of which every southern cook is so justly
proud. Nor should we omit the central vase of monthly
roses, of every shade of color, the daily arrangement of
which was the special delight of Anne's brown little waiting-maid,
Lettice.

Anne Clayton, in a fresh white morning-wrapper, with
her pure, healthy complexion, fine teeth, and frank, beaming
smile, looked like a queenly damask rose. A queen she
really was on her own plantation, reigning by the strongest
of all powers, that of love.

The African race have large ideality and veneration; and
in no drawing-room could Anne's beauty and grace, her fine
manners and carriage, secure a more appreciating and unlimited
admiration and devotion. The negro race, with
many of the faults of children, unite many of their most
amiable qualities, in the simplicity and confidingness with
which they yield themselves up in admiration of a superior
friend.

Nina had been there but a day, yet could not fail to read
in the eyes of all how absolute was the reign which Anne
held over their affections.

“How delightful the smell of this magnolia blossom!”

said Nina. “O, I 'm glad that you waked me so early,
Anne!”

“Yes,” said Anne, “in this climate early rising becomes
a necessary of life to those who mean to have any real, positive
pleasure in it; and I 'm one of the sort that must have
positive pleasures. Merely negative rest, lassitude, and
dreaming, are not enough for me. I want to feel that I 'm
alive, and that I accomplish something.”

“Yes, I see,” said Nina, “you are not nominally like
me, but really housekeeper. What wonderful skill you seem
to have! Is it possible that you keep nothing locked up
here?”

“No,” said Anne, “nothing. I am released from the
power of the keys, thank fortune! When I first came here,
everybody told me it was sheer madness to try such a thing.
But I told them that I was determined to do it, and Edward
upheld me in it; and you can see how well I 've succeeded.”

“Indeed,” said Nina, “you must have magic power, for I
never saw a household move on so harmoniously. All your
servants seem to think, and contrive, and take an interest
in what they are doing. How did you begin? What did
you do?”

“Well,” said Anne, “I 'll tell you the history of the
plantation. In the first place, it belonged to mamma's
uncle; and, not to spoil a story for relation's sake, I must
say he was a dissipated, unprincipled man. He lived a
perfectly heathen life here, in the most shocking way you
can imagine; and so the poor creatures who were under
him were worse heathen than he. He lived with a quadroon
woman, who was violent tempered, and when angry
ferociously cruel; and so the servants were constantly
passing from the extreme of indulgence to the extreme of
cruelty. You can scarce have an idea of the state we found
them in My heart almost failed me; but Edward said,
`Don't give it up, Anne; try the good that is in them'
Well, I confess, it seemed very much as it seemed to me

when I was once at a water-cure establishment, — patients
would be brought in languid, pale, cold, half dead,
and it appeared as if it would kill them to apply cold
water; but, somehow or other, there was a vital power
in them that reäcted under it. Well, just so it was with
my servants. I called them all together, and I said to
them, `Now, people have always said that you are the
greatest thieves in the world; that there is no managing
you except by locking up everything from you. But, I
think differently. I have an idea that you can be trusted.
I have been telling people that they don't know how much
good there is in you; and now, just to show them what
you can do, I 'm going to begin and leave the closets and
doors, and everything, unlocked, and I shall not watch you.
You can take my things, if you choose; and if, after a time,
I find that you can't be trusted, I shall go back to the old
way.' Well, my dear, I would n't have believed myself
that the thing would have answered so well. In the first
place, approbativeness is a stronger principle with the
African race than almost any other; they like to be thought
well of. Immediately there was the greatest spirit in the
house, for the poor creatures, having suddenly made the discovery
that somebody thought they were to be trusted,
were very anxious to keep up the reputation. The elder
ones watched the younger; and, in fact, my dear, I had
very little trouble. The children at first troubled me going
into my store-closet and getting the cake, notwithstanding
very spirited government on the part of the mammies. So,
I called my family in session again, and said that their conduct
had confirmed my good opinion; that I always knew
they could be trusted, and that my friends were astonished
to hear how well they did; but that I had observed that
some of the children probably had taken my cake. `Now,
you know,' said I, `that I have no objection to your having
some. If any of you would enjoy a piece of cake, I shall be
happy to give it to them, but it is not agreeable to have
things in my closet fingered over — I shall therefore set
a plate of cake out every day, and anybody that wishes to
take some I hope will take that.' Well, my dear, my plate
of cake stood there and dried. You won't believe me, but
in fact it was n't touched.”

“Well,” said Nina, “I should n't think you could have
had our Tomtit here! Why, really, this goes beyond the
virtue of white children.”

“My dear, it is n't such a luxury to white children to be
thought well of, and have a character. You must take that
into account. It was a taste of a new kind of pleasure,
made attractive by its novelty.”

“Yes,” said Nina, “I have something in me which
makes me feel this would be the right way. I know it
would be with me. There 's nothing like confidence. If a
person trusts me, I 'm bound.”

“Yet,” said Anne, “I can't get the ladies of my acquaintance
to believe in it. They see how I get along, but they
insist upon it that it 's some secret magic, or art, of mine.”

“Well, it is so,” said Nina. “Such things are just
like the divining-rod; they won't work in every hand; it
takes a real, generous, warm-hearted woman, like you,
Anne. But, could you carry your system through your
plantation, as well as your house?”

“The field-hands were more difficult to manage, on some
accounts,” said Anne, “but the same principle prevailed
with them. Edward tried all he could to awaken self-respect.
Now, I counselled that we should endeavor to form some
decent habits before we built the cabins over. I told him
they could not appreciate cleanliness and order. `Very
likely they cannot,' he said, `but we are not to suppose
it;' and he gave orders immediately for that pretty row of
cottages you saw down at the quarters. He put up a large
bathing establishment. Yet he did not enforce at first personal
cleanliness by strict rules. Those who began to improve
first were encouraged and noticed; and, as they found
this a passport to favor, the thing took rapidly. It required
a great while to teach them how to be consistently orderly

and cleanly even after the first desire had been awakened,
because it is n't every one that likes neatness and order,
who has the forethought and skill to secure it. But there
has been a steady progress in these respects. One curious
peculiarity of Edward's management gives rise to a good
many droll scenes. He has instituted a sort of jury trial
among them. There are certain rules for the order and
well-being of the plantation, which all agree to abide by;
and, in all offences, the man is tried by a jury of his peers.
Mr. Smith, our agent, says that these scenes are sometimes
very diverting, but on the whole there 's a good deal of
shrewdness and sense manifested; but he says that, in general,
they incline much more to severity than he would.
You see the poor creatures have been so barbarized by the
way they have been treated in past times, that it has made
them hard and harsh. I assure you, Nina, I never appreciated
the wisdom of God, in the laws which he made for
the Jews in the wilderness, as I have since I 've tried the
experiment myself of trying to bring a set of slaves out of
barbarism. Now, this that I 'm telling you is the fairest
side of the story. I can't begin to tell you the thousand
difficulties and trials which we have encountered in it.
Sometimes I 've been almost worn out and discouraged.
But, then, I think, if there is a missionary work in this
world, it is this.”

“And what do your neighbors think about it?” said
Nina.

“Well,” said Anne, “they are all very polite, well-bred
people, the families with whom we associate; and such
people, of course, would never think of interfering, or
expressing a difference of opinion, in any very open way;
but I have the impression that they regard it with suspicion.
They sometimes let fall words which make me think they
do. It 's a way of proceeding which very few would adopt,
because it is not a money-making operation, by any means.
The plantation barely pays for itself, because Edward makes
that quite a secondary consideration. The thing which excites

the most murmuring is our teaching them to read. I
teach the children myself two hours every day, because I
think this would be less likely to be an offence than if I
should hire a teacher. Mr. Smith teaches any of the grown
men who are willing to take the trouble to learn. Any man
who performs a certain amount of labor can secure to himself
two or three hours a day to spend as he chooses; and
many do choose to learn. Some of the men and the women
have become quite good readers, and Clayton is constantly
sending books for them. This, I 'm afraid, gives great
offence. It is against the law to do it; but, as unjust laws
are sometimes lived down, we thought we would test the
practicability of doing this. There was some complaint
made of our servants, because they have not the servile,
subdued air which commonly marks the slave, but look,
speak, and act, as if they respected themselves. I 'm sometimes
afraid that we shall have trouble; but, then, I hope
for the best.”

“What does Mr. Clayton expect to be the end of all
this?” said Nina.

“Why,” said Anne, “I think Edward has an idea that
one of these days they may be emancipated on the soil, just
as the serfs were in England. It looks to me rather hopeless,
I must say; but he says the best way is for some one
to begin and set an example of what ought to be done, and
he hopes that in time it will be generally followed. It
would, if all men were like him; but there lies my doubt.
The number of those who would pursue such a disinterested
course is very small. But who comes there? Upon my
word, if there is n't my particular admirer, Mr. Bradshaw!”

As Anne said this, a very gentlemanly middle-aged man
came up on horseback, on the carriage-drive which passed
in front of the veranda. He bore in his hand a large bunch
of different-colored roses; and, alighting, and delivering
his horse to his servant, came up the steps, and presented it
to Anne.

“There,” said he, “are the first fruits of my roses, in
the garden that I started in Rosedale.”

“Beautiful,” said Anne, taking them. “Allow me to
present to you Miss Gordon.”

“Miss Gordon, your most obedient,” said Mr. Bradshaw,
bowing obsequiously.

“You are just in season, Mr. Bradshaw,” said Anne, “for
I 'm sure you could n't have had your breakfast before you
started; so sit down and help us with ours.”

“Thank you, Miss Anne,” said Mr. Bradshaw, “the offer
is too tempting to be refused.” And he soon established
himself as a third at the little table, and made himself very
sociable.

“Well, Miss Anne, how do all your plans proceed — all
your benevolences and cares? I hope your angel ministrations
don't exhaust you.”

“Not at all, Mr. Bradshaw; do I look like it?”

“No, indeed! but such energy is perfectly astonishing
to us all.”

Nina's practised eye observed that Mr. Bradshaw had
that particular nervous, restless air, which belongs to a man
who is charged with a particular message, and finds himself
unexpectedly blockaded by the presence of a third person.
So, after breakfast, exclaiming that she had left her crochet-needle
in her apartment, and resisting Anne's offer to send
a servant for it, by declaring that nobody could find it but
herself, she left the veranda. Mr. Bradshaw had been an old
family friend for many years, and stood with Anne almost
on the easy footing of a relation, which gave him the liberty
of speaking with freedom. The moment the door of the
parlor was closed after Nina, he drew a chair near to Anne,
and sat down, with the unmistakable air of a man who is
going into a confidential communication.

“The fact is, my dear Miss Clayton,” he said, “I have
something on my mind that I want to tell you; and I hope
you will think my long friendship for the family a sufficient
warrant for my speaking on matters which really belong

chiefly to yourself. The fact is, my dear Miss Clayton, I
was at a small dinner-party of gentlemen, the other day, at
Colonel Grandon's. There was a little select set there, you
know, — the Howards, and the Elliotts, and the Howlands,
and so on, — and the conversation happened to turn upon
your brother. Now, there was the very greatest respect
for him; they seemed to have the highest possible regard for
his motives; but still they felt that he was going on a very
dangerous course.”

“Dangerous?” said Anne, a little startled.

“Yes, really dangerous; and I think so myself, though I,
perhaps, don't feel as strongly as some do.”

“Really,” said Anne, “I 'm quite at a loss!”

“My dear Miss Anne, it 's these improvements, you know,
which you are making. — Don't misapprehend me! Admirable,
very admirable, in themselves, — done from the most
charming of motives, Miss Anne, — but dangerous, dangerous!”

The solemn, mysterious manner in which these last
words were pronounced made Anne laugh; but when she
saw the expression of real concern on the face of her good
friend, she checked herself, and said,

“Pray, explain yourself. I don't understand you.”

“Why, Miss Anne, it 's just here. We appreciate your
humanity, and your self-denial, and your indulgence to your
servants. Everybody is of opinion that it 's admirable.
You are really quite a model for us all. But, when it comes
to teaching them to read and write, Miss Anne,” he said,
lowering his voice, “I think you don't consider what a
dangerous weapon you are putting into their hands. The
knowledge will spread on to the other plantations; bright
niggers will pick it up; for the very fellows who are most
dangerous are the very ones who will be sure to learn.”

“What if they should?” said Anne.

“Why, my dear Miss Anne,” said he, lowering his voice,
“the facilities that it will afford them for combinations, for
insurrections! You see, Miss Anne, I read a story once of

a man who made a cork leg with such wonderful accuracy
that it would walk of itself, and when he got it on he
could n't stop its walking — it walked him to death —
actually did! Walked him up hill and down dale, till the poor
man fell down exhausted; and then it ran off with his body.
And it 's running with its skeleton to this day, I believe.”

And good-natured Mr. Bradshaw conceived such a ridiculous
idea, at this stage of his narrative, that he leaned back
in his chair and laughed heartily, wiping his perspiring face
with a cambric pocket-handkerchief.

“Really, Mr. Bradshaw, it 's a very amusing idea, but I
don't see the analogy,” said Anne.

“Why, don't you see? You begin teaching niggers, and
having reading and writing, and all these things, going on,
and they begin to open their eyes, and look round and
think; and they are having opinions of their own, they
won't take yours; and they want to rise directly. And
if they can't rise, why, they are all discontented; and
there 's the what-'s-his-name to pay with them! Then come
conspiracies and insurrections, no matter how well you
treat them; and, now, we South Carolinians have had
experience in this matter. You must excuse us, but it is a
terrible subject with us. Why, the leaders of that conspiracy,
all of them, were fellows who could read and write,
and who had nothing in the world to wish for, in the way
of comfort, treated with every consideration by their masters.
It is a most melancholy chapter in human nature.
It shows that there is no trust to be placed in them. And,
now, the best way to get along with negroes, in my opinion,
is to make them happy; give them plenty to eat and drink
and wear, and keep them amused and excited, and don't
work them too hard. I think it 's a great deal better than
this kind of exciting instruction. Mind,” he said, seeing
that Anne was going to interrupt him, “mind, now, I 'd
have religious instruction, of course. Now, this system of
oral instruction, teaching them hymns and passages of
scripture suited to their peculiar condition, it 's just the

thing; it is n't so liable to these dangers. I hope you 'll
excuse me, Miss Anne, but the gentlemen really feel very
serious about these things; they find it 's affecting their
own negroes. You know, somehow, everything goes round
from one plantation to another; and one of them said that
he had a very smart man who is married to one of your
women, and he actually found him with a spelling-book,
sitting out under a tree. He said if the man had had a
rifle he could n't have been more alarmed; because the
man was just one of those sharp, resolute fellows, that, if he
knew how to read and write, there 's no knowing what he
would do. Well, now, you see how it is. He takes the
spelling-book away, and he tells him he will give him nine-and-thirty
if he ever finds him with it again. What 's the
consequence? Why, the consequence is, the man sulks and
gets ugly, and he has to sell him. That 's the way it 's
operating.”

“Well, then,” said Anne, looking somewhat puzzled,
“I will strictly forbid our people to allow spelling-books to
go out of their hands, or to communicate any of these things
off of the plantation.”

“O, I tell you, Miss Anne, you can't do it. You don't
know the passion in human nature for anything that is forbidden.
Now, I believe it 's more that than love of reading.
You can't shut up such an experiment as you are
making here. It 's just like a fire. It will blaze; it will catch
on all the plantations round; and I assure you it 's matter
of life and death with us. You smile, Miss Anne, but
it 's so.”

“Really, my dear Mr. Bradshaw, you could not have
addressed me on a more unpleasant subject. I am sorry to
excite the apprehension of our neighbors; but —”

“Give me leave to remind you, also, Miss Anne, that
the teaching of slaves to read and write is an offence to
which a severe penalty is attached by the laws.”

“I thought,” said Anne, “that such barbarous laws were
a dead letter in a Christian community, and that the best

tribute I could pay to its Christianity was practically to disregard
them.”

“By no means, Miss Anne, by no means! Why, look at
us here in South Carolina. The negroes are three to one over
the whites now. Will it do to give them the further advantages
of education and facilities of communication? You
see, at once, it will not. Now, well-bred people, of course,
are extremely averse to mingling in the affairs of other families;
and had you merely taught a few favorites, in a private
way, as I believe people now and then do, it would n't
have seemed so bad; but to have regular provision for
teaching school, and school-hours, — I think, Miss Anne,
you 'll find it will result in unpleasant consequences.”

“Yes, I fancy,” said Anne, raising herself up, and
slightly coloring, “that I see myself in the penitentiary for
the sin and crime of teaching children to read! I think,
Mr. Bradshaw, it is time such laws were disregarded. Is
not that the only way in which many laws are repealed?
Society outgrows them, people disregard them, and so they
fall away, like the calyx from some of my flowers. Come,
now, Mr. Bradshaw, come with me to my school. I 'm going
to call it together,” said Anne, rising, and beginning to
go down the veranda steps. “Certainly, my dear friend,
you ought not to judge without seeing. Wait a moment,
till I call Miss Gordon.”

And Anne stepped across the shady parlor, and in a few
moments reäppeared with Nina, both arrayed in white cape-bonnets.
They crossed to the right of the house, to a small
cluster of neat cottages, each one of which had its little
vegetable garden, and its plot in front carefully tended with
flowers. They passed onward into a grove of magnolias
which skirted the back of the house, till they came to a little
building, with the external appearance of a small Grecian
temple, the pillars of which were festooned with jessamine.

“Pray, what pretty little place is this?” said Mr. Bradshaw.

“This is my school-room,” said Anne.

Mr. Bradshaw repressed a whistle of astonishment; but
the emotion was plainly legible in his face, and Anne said,
laughing,

“A lady's school-room, you know, should be lady-like.
Besides, I wish to inspire ideas of taste, refinement, and
self-respect, in these children. I wish learning to be associated
with the idea of elegance and beauty.”

They ascended the steps, and entered a large room, surrounded
on three sides by black-boards. The floor was
covered with white matting, and the walls hung with very
pretty pictures of French lithographs, tastefully colored.
In some places cards were hung up, bearing quotations of
scripture. There were rows of neat desks, before each of
which there was a little chair.

Anne stepped to the door and rang a bell, and in about
ten minutes the patter of innumerable little feet was heard
ascending the steps, and presently they came streaming in —
all ages, from four or five to fifteen, and from the ebony
complexion of the negro, with its closely-curling wool, to
the rich brown cheek of the quadroom, with melancholy lustrous
eyes, and waving hair. All were dressed alike, in a
neat uniform of some kind of blue stuff, with white capes
and aprons.

They filed in to the tune of one of those marked rhythmical
melodies which characterize the negro music, and, moving
in exact time to the singing, assumed their seats, which
were arranged with regard to their age and size. As soon
as they were seated, Anne, after a moment's pause, clapped
her hands, and the whole school commenced a morning
hymn, in four parts, which was sung so beautifully that
Mr. Bradshaw, quite overpowered, stood with tears in his
eyes. Anne nodded at Nina, and cast on him a satisfied
glance.

After that, there was a rapid review of the classes.
There was reading, spelling, writing on the black-board,
and the smaller ones were formed in groups in two adjoining

apartments, under the care of some of the older girls.
Anne walked about superintending the whole; and Nina,
who saw the scene for the first time, could not repress her
exclamation of delight. The scholars were evidently animated
by the presence of company, and anxious to do credit
to the school and teacher, and the two hours passed rapidly
away. Anne exhibited to Mr. Bradshaw specimens of the
proficiency of her scholars in hand-writing, and the drawing
of maps, and even the copying of small lithograph cards,
which contained a series of simple drawing-patterns. Mr.
Bradshaw seemed filled with astonishment.

“'Pon my word,” said he, “these are surprising! Miss
Anne, you are a veritable magician — a worker of miracles!
You must have found Aaron's rod, again! My dear madam,
you run the risk of being burned for a witch!”

“Very few, Mr. Bradshaw, know how much of beauty lies
sealed up in this neglected race,” said Anne, with enthusiasm.

As they were walking back to the house, Mr. Bradshaw
fell a little behind, and his face wore a thoughtful and almost
sad expression.

“Well,” said Anne, looking round, “a penny for your
thoughts!”

“O, I see, Miss Anne, you are for pursuing your advantage.
I see triumph in your eyes. But yet,” he added,
“after all this display, the capability of your children makes
me feel sad. To what end is it? What purpose will it
serve, except to unfit them for their inevitable condition —
to make them discontented and unhappy?”

“Well,” replied Anne, “there ought to be no inevitable
condition that makes it necessary to dwarf a human mind.
Any condition which makes a full development of the powers
that God has given us a misfortune, cannot, certainly, be a
healthy one — cannot be right. If a mind will grow and
rise, make way and let it. Make room for it, and cut down
everything that stands in the way!”

“That 's terribly levelling doctrine, Miss Anne.”

“Let it level, then!” said Anne. “I don't care! I come
from the old Virginia cavalier blood, and am not afraid of
anything.”

“But, Miss Anne, how do you account for it that the
best-educated and best-treated slaves — in fact, as you say,
the most perfectly-developed human beings — were those
who got up the insurrection in Charleston?”

“How do you account for it,” said Anne, “that the best-developed
and finest specimens of men have been those
that have got up insurrections in Italy, Austria, and Hungary?”

“Well, you admit, then,” said Mr. Bradshaw, “that if you
say A in this matter, you 've got to say B.”

“Certainly,” said Anne, “and when the time comes to
say B, I 'm ready to say it. I admit, Mr. Bradshaw, it 's a
very dangerous thing to get up steam, if you don't intend
to let the boat go. But when the steam is high enough, let
her go, say I.”

“Yes, but, Miss Anne, other people don't want to say
so. The fact is, we are not all of us ready to let the boat
go. It 's got all our property in it — all we have to live on.
If you are willing yourself, so far as your people are concerned,
they 'll inevitably want liberty, and you say you 'll
be ready to give it to them; but your fires will raise a
steam on our plantations, and we must shut down these
escape-valves. Don't you see? Now, for my part, I 've been
perfectly charmed with this school of yours; but, after all,
I can't help inquiring whereto it will grow.”

“Well, Mr. Bradshaw,” said Anne, “I 'm obliged to you
for the frankness of this conversation. It 's very friendly
and sincere. I think, however, I shall continue to compliment
the good sense and gallantry of this state, by ignoring
its unworthy and unchristian laws. I will endeavor, nevertheless,
to be more careful and guarded as to the manner of
what I do; but, if I should be put into the penitentiary,
Mr. Bradshaw, I hope you 'll call on me.”

“Miss Anne, I beg ten thousand pardons for that unfortunate
allusion.”

“I think,” said Anne, “I shall impose it as a penance
upon you to stay and spend the day with us, and then I 'll
show you my rose-garden. I have great counsel to hold
with you on the training of a certain pillar-rose. You see,
my design is to get you involved in my treason. You 've
already come into complicity with it, by visiting my school.”

“Thank you, Miss Anne, I should be only too much
honored to be your abettor in any treason you might meditate.
But, really, I 'm a most unlucky dog! Think of my
having four bachelor friends engaged to dine with me, and
so being obliged to decline your tempting offer! In fact, I
must take horse before the sun gets any hotter.”

“There he goes, for a good-hearted creature as he is!”
said Anne.

“Do you know,” said Nina, laughing, “that I thought
that he was some poor, desperate mortal, who was on the
verge of a proposal, this morning, and I ran away like a
good girl, to give him a fair field?”

“Child,” said Anne, “you are altogether too late in the
day. Mr. Bradshaw and I walked that little figure some time
ago, and now he is one of the most convenient and agreeable
of friends.”

“Anne, why in the world don't you get in love with
somebody?” said Nina.

“My dear, I think there was something or other left out
when I was made up,” said Anne, laughing, “but I never
had much of a fancy for the lords of creation. They do
tolerably well till they come to be lovers; but then they are
perfectly unbearable. Lions in love, my dear, don't appear
to advantage, you know. I can't marry papa or Edward,
and they have spoiled me for everybody else. Besides, I 'm
happy, and what do I want of any of them? Can't there
be now and then a woman sufficient to herself? But, Nina,
dear, I 'm sorry that our affairs here are giving offence and
making uneasiness.”

“For my part,” said Nina, “I should go right on. I
have noticed that people try all they can to stop a person
who is taking an unusual course; and when they are perfectly
certain that they can't stop them, then they turn
round and fall in with them; and I think that will be the
case with you.”

“They certainly will have an opportunity of trying,”
said Anne. “But there is Dulcimer coming up the avenue
with the letter-bag. Now, child, I don't believe you appreciate
half my excellence, when you consider that I used to
have all these letters that fall to you every mail.”

At this moment Dulcimer rode up to the veranda steps,
and deposited the letter-bag in Anne's hands.

“What an odd name you have given him!” said Nina,
“and what a comical-looking fellow he is! He has a sort
of waggish air that reminds me of a crow.”

“O, Dulcimer don't belong to our régime,” said Anne.
“He was the prime minister and favorite under the former
reign, — a sort of licensed court jester, — and to this day
he hardly knows how to do anything but sing and dance; and
so brother, who is for allowing the largest liberty to everybody,
imposes on him only such general and light tasks as
suit his roving nature. But there!” she said, throwing a
letter on Nina's lap, and at the same time breaking the seal
of one directed to herself. “Ah, I thought so! You see,
puss, Edward has some law business that takes him to this
part of the state forthwith. Was ever such convenient law
business? We may look for him to-night. Now there will
be rejoicings! How now, Dulcimer? I thought you had
gone,” she said, looking up, and observing that personage
still lingering in the shade of a tulip-tree near the veranda.

“Please, Miss Anne, is Master Clayton coming home to-night?”

“Yes, Dulcimer; so now go and spread the news; for
that 's what you want, I know.”

And Dulcimer, needing no second suggestion, was out of
sight in the shrubbery in a few moments.

“Now, I 'll wager,” said Anne, “that creature will get
up something or other extraordinary for this evening.”

“Such as what?” said Nina.

“Well, he is something of a troubadour, and I should n't
wonder if he should be cudgelling his brain at this moment
for a song. We shall have some kind of operatic performance,
you may be sure.”