CHAPTER V

Chloe is devoted to the chicks—feeds them every two hours.

I am having much trouble at Casa Bianca. The handscontinue to resent my having given the keys to Nat, and they will not take orders from him. They will not bind themselves either to rent any certain amount of land, but sulk steadily.

I knew that the loss of my good foreman Marcus was irremediable, and when I met him in "town" the other day he told me he was perfectly wretched; that he missed the country so. Of course it must be so at first.

Instead of using his really excellent powers of control and organization, he is hauling wood for a living during the week and preaching on Sunday; but his wife is perfectly happy in the high social life. It is the old, old tragedy of Eve and her misguided ambitions—the world, the flesh, and his satanic majesty. The apple pleased her eye; she longed to taste it, and then the subtle whisper came: "And it will make thee wise."

Marcus was making a handsome income; had a position of trust and responsibility, where all his faculties were in use during the week; and on Sundays he, no doubt, preached good, simple, useful sermons to his congregation of laborers, for he came fresh from his struggle with the earth and its realities. But to his wife came that desire for social eminence; to wear silk frock and shine, and she tugged and tugged until he consented to her going.

He remained a year alone on the plantation and then came the inevitable. He followed, and now all the dignity of his life and character has gone, and he is struggling to make himself contented with what is supposed to be a higher station; that is, he takes orders from no one. He will get accustomed to it after a time, but his powers will shrink away, unused, and without responsibility his character will crumble.

When he began as my foreman,[2]about fifteen years ago, hiswriting was illegible, his figures hopeless. Steadily, patiently, I have corrected his mistakes, looking over and deciphering his weekly accounts and copying them down in my book before him so that he could see how they should look. Now he writes a readable, nice letter and any one could examine his accounts, and he knows and realizes all this and knows that his standards have all grown and risen more even than his knowledge.

Meantime I will have to give up altogether planting on wages, and it looks as though there will be very little land rented. If I had money of my own I would hire a good overseer and plant 100 acres on wages and not rent any land to these recalcitrant hands, but it would be madness to put a mortgage on the place and borrow money at 8 per cent while rice is selling at 40 cents a bushel.

So I will simply remain passive and let the hands who wish to rent have the land and seed, but explain that I cannot pay out any money for extra work. I feel sure that some day rice will rise in price, but every one seems to think differently, and all the planters are either giving up entirely or diminishing their acreage very much and turning to upland crops.

So far I have only forty acres of rice land rented, and I feel very blue about the future. Then, again, my sheep and cattle at Casa Bianca, which have been so remunerative to me all these years, are giving me trouble now.

A friend and neighbor, who has been heretofore a confirmed rice planter, and never planted an acre of corn, has become disgusted with rice and enclosed a large body of land which has been thrown out for years, and is going to plant corn and cotton. This land touches mine, and my animals have had the run of it. The fence which has been put up is neither "horse high, bull strong, nor pig tight," and my cattle do not regard it at all, though it is a very nice looking,comme ilfautwire fence, and I will have to sell my cattle, I fear, and confine the sheep in a limited pasture.

Ruth, my brag cow, who has given me fifteen fine calves, and Rubin, my picture bull, just light over that neat fence as though it did not exist, and the humble sheep go down on their knees and creep under it, and I lie awake at night and wonder what I am to do between my love for my creatures and my love for my neighbor.

Easter Sunday, May 1.

A beautiful, bright Easter. All nature seems to rejoice with man in this great day of triumph over death.

Our little chapel, Prince Frederick's Pee Dee, is beautifully wreathed with wild flowers and vines, the work of three young girls, sisters, who, having but three days' holiday from their school teaching, devoted one of them to this thank offering and labor of love. We are all touched and softened by this act of devotion, and the blessing of the day seems upon every one.

Prince Frederick's Pee Dee.

May 2.

Had a terrible shock to-day. I took M. to see the alfalfa field, and there was not a leaf of anything in the five acres! Those two nights of ice must have caught the alfalfa in its one tender stage, for all the books say that after it is six inches high it will stand any amount of cold. I am stunned, it is such an unexpected blow.

Having been desperately busy, and knowing that my fence was perfectly secure, I have not been to look at the alfalfa since the seventeenth, when it was fine, and now all the money I have spent on it might as well have been thrown away, so far as any hope of return goes—I fenced in that field of thirty acres with American fence wire, forty inches high, and two strands of barbed wire on top, hoping gradually to get it all in alfalfa by planting five acres every year. I have five acres of fine oats in it now, but that brings in no money, only feeds my horses.

I had to go for a long walk alone to steady myself, so as not to break down entirely.

Cherokee, May 3.

The hands from Casa Bianca came this morning to get seed rice. I was just starting to drive M. to the train, but as it is very important to get the rice planted as soon as possible I had to delay the departure until to-morrow, for it was too late when I had finished measuring out the rice to drive to Gregory in time for the 4: 30 train.

May 4.

Drove M. to the R. R. yesterday. I was afraid to take Willing, knowing his weakness for the dispensary; so drove her in the buckboard. On the way I took her into Woodstock, my brother's place, that she might see its beauty, and then when we reached Gregory I took her to see the old church, Prince George Winyah, and its churchyard, where my parents rest. The church was built of brick imported from the oldcountry, and it is one of the oldest in the land. The churchyard is beautiful with its moss hung oaks and cedars, and one feels that it is truly God's acre. We lingered there so long that there was a risk of missing the train, which would have been most inconvenient to both guest and hostess. By driving rapidly, however, we reached the station in time.

As it was too late for me to take the long drive home alone I went into Woodstock and spent the night with my brother. This morning after breakfast I drove to Casa Bianca, which is halfway between Woodstock and Cherokee. There I had a good many things to see after, and it was late afternoon before I got through and finally started for home.

Prince George Winyah.

I had been so much engrossed with my work trying to establish a better state of feeling between the hands and Natthat I had not noticed that the clouds had gathered heavily and that everything indicated a storm. When I felt the gusts of wind which tore at the umbrella so fiercely that I had to put it down in spite of a drizzling rain, and saw the forked lightning which shot incessantly from the clouds, and thought of the eight miles of lonely road ahead of me, I realized that I would have to bring forward all my faith and philosophy for the next hour. From being by nature a great coward I had become very courageous, and I have often caught myself saying there were only two things in the world I was afraid of, a cow and a drunken man, and I could not help calling this to mind now and wondering how I would stand the present ordeal. Romola, who is generally very quiet, snorted and showed every sign of fear, but I did not give her time to give way to her feelings, but used the whip freely, a thing I very rarely do, to make her understand that she must travel. She responded nobly and we sped along.

The clouds made it much darker than it should have been, for the sun had only just gone down. I have never seen such vivid lightning nor heard such claps of thunder, and at each Romola darted out of the road as though the thick bushes could protect her. Not a human being was to be seen the whole way, and when I got to the avenue gate, which was shut, I had, of course, to get out to open it, and I felt sure Romola would fly home and leave me; but I did her an injustice. She waited, with every sign of impatience, long enough for me with great speed to get in, and then dashed on until we got to the darkest spot in the avenue, where the live oaks lap together overhead. A fearful flash of lightning came, followed instantly by a terrific peal of thunder, and she stopped short. I felt sure she had been struck, and she seemed to share the impression, but in a moment she went on and we were soon at home.

I was so excited that I was in a perfect gale of spirits,which quite upset my good Chloe, who had worked herself up to a wretched state of anxiety about me, miserable that I was out in that terrible storm alone; and she was hurt and disapproving of my attitude, especially as the first thing I did was to insist that Gerty and herself should take in my best rug, which had been hung on the piazza to air. Their terror had been so great that they had left it out in the rain—such a panic had seized them that they were very reluctant to venture out on the piazza. They had the house shut up without a breath of air, that being their idea of safety. Of course, I was drenched and had to change all my things, and after two hours I sent word to Willing that he might safely feed the mare, I having told him to rub her perfectly dry, but not to feed her till I sent him word. What was my dismay to find he had not rubbed her at all—said he was afraid to stay in the stable, so he had turned her loose in the stable yard and gone into the kitchen, leaving her exposed to the pouring rain! Of course she will be foundered, for she was very hot.

Sunday, May 8.

Drove Ruth to church and met some one just from Gregory on the way, who told me a most terrible thing. Mrs. R., one of the loveliest women in our community, was struck by lightning during the storm last evening. She had always had a great terror of lightning, though in every other respect she was a fearless woman, so that her family always gathered round her during a storm and tried as much as possible to shut out the sight and sound. On this occasion her husband and daughter were sitting one on each side of her on an old-fashioned mahogany sofa, she with her handkerchief thrown over her face. When the fatal flash came the husband and daughter were thrown forward to the floor and were stunned; as soon as they recovered consciousness they turned to reassure the mother as to their not being seriouslyhurt. She was still sitting straight up on the sofa with the handkerchief over her face; they lifted the handkerchief as they received no answer and found life extinct. It was a translation really for her, as she probably felt nothing; there was only one small spot at the back of the neck. She was a woman rarely gifted, with beauty of face and form, as well as of soul; she was one upon whom every one rested who came in contact with her; she gave of her strength to all who needed it, for her supply was unlimited, coming direct from the great source of all power. I wonder if terror of lightning was a premonition which had been with, her always from her childhood? Her death is a great loss to our county, and to her family a calamity indeed.

May 9.

Very busy arranging things so that I can leave for my annual visit to Washington. It is harder than ever, for Jim not being here to leave in charge of the horses I feel very anxious. However, I have done my best and will leave to-morrow. The incubator is in full swing and Chloe and Gerty have learned how to manage the heat between them. The chicks are due to hatch on the 14th, and I have left most accurate written directions for each day which Gerty is to read aloud to Chloe as the day comes, for toward the end the heat must be raised. The first family of sixty-seven are growing apace; only one has died and that was smothered by the others before I found out that I must put them under the hover every night or they will cluster about the thermometer and climb on top of each other until the ones underneath are smothered if help does not come. It is the funniest thing to see their devotion to the thermometer. They peck it off of the nail on which it hangs, so that as soon as I learned to know the proper heat for the brooder by touching the metal cylinder under the hover, I took the thermometer out entirely, and as soon as it was gone they went under thehover of their own accord. They seemed to feel that the mercury was a living presence, I suppose, because it moved up and down in the tube.

I am leaving Willing to run one cultivator, with Mollie and Gibbie to run the other with a fine ox I have just bought. I heard that Gibbie had made his plans to "go to town" to work, leaving his young wife and child, and I racked my brain for something that would interest him at home and divert his thoughts from that plan; for if once a young negro leaves his wife and children to go away to work he is very apt to stay away permanently, and I should be sorry for Gibbie to do that. One day I called him and said: "Gibbie, I wish to try an experiment and put you in charge of it, and I am going away for a month. You know, in this country no one ever thinks of ploughing a single ox; they can't do anything without a yoke of oxen; but in the up country it is not so. On my way to the mountains I see from the car windows people running their ploughs with a single ox. Now I want you to take entire charge of Paul—no one else is to use him—and I want you to put him in the cultivator and run it through the corn day by day until you finish that, and then through the cotton, and then start through the corn again; but be careful of Paul and do not let him get galled, and feed him well."

Gibbie was as proud as though he had been made Viceroy of India and his plan of deserting vanished.

May 26.

Washington. Spent the afternoon at the Agricultural Department, where I met with much courtesy as well as information. I went specially to inquire as to the practicability of the cultivation of the orris root on our rice field lands. The orris of commerce is the root of the iris, which grows luxuriantly in our low country. In the latter part of March and during the month of April every swampy low spot, as one drivesalong the road, is beautiful with the dark purple or blue and the light purple and the white iris, or flag. My desire was to find out if these species of iris had the perfumed root, for if they have we could cultivate it in the rice fields with great success.

The impression at the department is that orris can be grown only on high ground, as in Italy, where it is principally grown, it is planted in a semi-mountainous region. This is a great disappointment. They told me of a farm in Louisa, Va., where the orris is being cultivated for market. I would like very much to visit that farm and see for myself, but my time is limited, as I have promised to attend the annual meeting of the South Carolina branch of the Women's Auxiliary at Orangeburg, May 31. One must have plenty of patience to attempt the cultivation of orris, for the root should not be dug until it is two years old, and then it has to be kept two years before its perfume develops.

Another thing I had much at heart was to take some lessons in photography and to buy a good camera. I could do so much more if I could illustrate things with good photographs of the odd and picturesque things I so constantly see; but, alas, I am going away without having made any progress in this direction, time and other things lacking.

June 6.

Peaceville. At home once more and the great big white rooms of the pineland bungalow are very restful and pleasant. That is the one luxury we enjoy to the fullest in the South—space. My rooms here are immense, each with four windows and three doors, very high ceilings and a broad piazza around the whole.

I received a riotous welcome from the dogs and a very hearty one from Chloe, Gerty, and the Imp, but Chloe seemed downcast and unlike herself, and I knew there was some badnews, which she would not bring out until I had had my dinner. While I was away I had several letters from Chloe, in one of which she announced with great joy that sixty-three fine healthy chicks had hatched from the 'cubator. So when I had finished the simple but delicious meal which she had prepared for me I asked her to go out with me and show me the chickens. Then she poured out her woes. The night before she moved from the plantation some one had climbed the six-foot fence and stolen twenty-five of the precious last-hatched chicks. She said when she found it out the next morning she sat down and cried, she had been so proud to have hatched them out and they were doing so well and growing so fast. I sympathized with her. Of course it was a great blow to me, but she was in such deep distress over it that I had to act the part of consoler, though I was the victim.

She went on to say: "En I do' kno' who carry de news out say I cry 'bout de chicken, but I s'pose 'twas dat wicket boy Rab, fu' ebeybody I meet say 'Eh, eh! I yere say yu cry 'bout chicken, I'se shock to yere sech a ting! A pusson cry fu' loss 'e mudder or some of 'e fambly, but cry fu' chicken! No; en wusser wen 'tain't yo' chicken.'" This taunt and ridicule seemed to have sunk deep and to rankle still. She went on to say that the person who took the chickens must have been well known to the dogs, as they made no outcry, and moreover that Rab had not slept at home that night, saying he had stayed with Willing, which all looks very bad for both of these boys. I will not attempt to investigate, for it would be perfectly useless.

"Eh, eh, I yere say yu cry 'bout chicken."

It is a principle firmly maintained that one negro will not give testimony against another unless he has a quarrel with him, and then he will say anything necessary to convict him of any crime, so that investigation with a view to justice is a farce. I do not doubt that these two are guilty, for Willinghas encouraged Rab to return to his old habit of stealing all the eggs. Bonaparte found a spot in the pasture, with cans and many egg-shells and remains of fire, where they had a regular picnic place. When he asked Rab about it, he said Willing and he cooked there every day eggs, potatoes, anything else they wanted. I had brought Rab a beautiful outfit from Washington, besides the ever desired mouth organ, and, after a consultation with Chloe, I determined to give them to him, as she said he had been moderately good while I was gone and slept out only that one night; and there was no proof against him, and if they did take the chickens of course the older boy was very much more to blame. I would not on any account accuse them of such a thing unless I was perfectly certain, for I think that is the way to make people dishonest. I would not appear to think itpossible that any one about the yard could know anything about it. I only reproached Rab with having been absent that night, as he might have caught the thief.

June 20.

Drove into Cherokee this morning on my way to Casa Bianca and found Ruth with a beautiful filly colt. I am so pleased. Ruth is very proud and brought the colt right up to me and the little thing licked my hand and let me stroke its head. I went on in fine spirits after admiring my new possession. So many things go wrong that I am unduly elated when something pleasant comes.

Casa Bianca looked perfectly beautiful. The place is so lovely that it always does me good to go there, though this time I had dreaded it very much. The negroes continue to fight against Nat, and there is very little rice planted, and they will not work that little properly. Nat seems to do his best, which I'm sure is a mercy.

The Summer Kitchen at Cherokee.

Stopped on my way back and told Willing to get all the milk he could to-morrow and put it in demijohns ready for me to take out with me. We are to have a little sale of ice-cream in aid of our auxiliary.

June 21.

Arose at 6 and hurried through breakfast to go early to the plantation and get through my work there and bring themilk for the auxiliary. To my great disappointment found Willing had less milk than usual. I went with him to the field and made him milk the cows over, and found they had an abundance and he had only half milked; he was sulky about it, but I insisted and got three quarts more, then turned the calves in and showed Willing how much they were getting. I hurried back to send it to the ladies. I had undertaken to furnish the 200 pounds of ice and to make a churn of cream myself. Such a time as I had freezing it! I never had done it before, as long ago I read all the directions to Jim, who always did it. I supposed Chloe knew how, but she had forgotten, if she ever knew, and I spent nearly two hours down on my knees working with the thing. Like everything else, it is easy if you know how, but this was terrific. However, it was finished in time.

The Winter Kitchen at Cherokee.

In the little hamlet of Peaceville truly the simple life, now so much vaunted and preached, is lived. A community of gentle folk, about sixteen households, most of the families were wealthy in the time prior to 1860, and all well born. Now theirs is a life of privation and labor, and borne without murmur or repining, and they are gentle folk emphatically. With the mercury for weeks over 90, and sometimes 98, there is but one family who can indulge in the luxury of ice. Until this summer I have always got 200 pounds a week, but things are changed by the failure of rice and I have given it up, asby the time I get it from the nearest town, eighteen miles away, the 200 pounds cost $1.50. Every one is much excited over the sale, and early in the afternoon they gather at the little schoolhouse, across the road from my gate, which had been selected for the event. The five ice-cream churns are grouped under a tree and two or three tables placed around, while the benches from the schoolhouse are placed about as seats. Two ladies down on their knees serve out the cream to the excited string of children, who bring their nickels clasped tightly in their hand. Two other ladies have a large dish pan and towels and keep a constant supply of fresh saucers and spoons, while one with a little basket receives the nickels.

The string of excited children.

The five-cent saucers are very big, but I call to mind how rarely these children ever taste ice-cream and what self-denial on the part of the mother each nickel represents, and so our results are not as large as they might be. My churn is pure cream as that is the only kind I can make, but it is not nearly so popular as the others which are made of custard with different flavorings. Finally, after a period of great activity I hear "All gone but the Newport vanilla" (that ismine) and the answer comes, "Well, if there is nothing else I will take that," and everything is gone and the benches are put back in the schoolhouse and the tables are carried home, and we have made $8 for our auxiliary, not much, but it represents a good deal of labor and self sacrifice on the part of the women who have given their material and their time, for all the things are contributed by different members and so we have no bills to pay. This will go to a cot in the hospital at Shanghai in memory of Bishop Howe and for a Bible woman in Japan. A mite truly, but God grant it may be blessed.

June 22.

Rose at 5, skimmed and set the churn. It is very hot, and having no ice there is no chance of good butter except by handling it very early. When I went to the plantation, I found that my two English side-saddles had been left on a rack in the piazza where I had them moved this spring from the stuffy harness room, but I didn't mean them to stay there always; it is scarcely safe now that I have moved to the village and there is no one in the yard; so this afternoon I called Gibbie to bring them into the house. He brought the first and placed it on the rack, and I covered it with a large white cloth and he went for the other.

As he came with it I heard a strange rumbling noise. "What is that?" I asked. Gibbie is quite deaf and answered that he heard nothing. I went on: "It is either a steamboat on the river or an approaching tornado."

Still Gibbie heard nothing, but as he was about to put down the saddle I became aware that the noise came from it. "Take it back quickly to the piazza, Gibbie, and put it down gently." I followed, and as he set it down out from the inside crawled a bumblebee, and then another and another. The bees had excavated the padding and built inside of the saddle, leaving only the small hole which they had boredvisible. The saddle might have been put on a horse's back and girthed on before the bees stirred, and what a circus there would have been.

Nothing would induce Gibbie to touch it again. He fled down the piazza steps, and the saddle remains upside down on a stand. I do not know how to get rid of the things. The sting of the bumblebee is said to be more severe than that of the honey-bee. If I pour hot water down the hole, as I first thought of doing, the saddle will be ruined, and I do not know how else to reach them. Certainly strange things happen to me!

When I reached Peaceville at three o'clock the mercury in the coolest spot on the piazza marked 96, and I was so thirsty. Alas the artesian water brought and kept in a demijohn is lukewarm and there is no use pretending that it is refreshing. The well water is cool, but it has a taste which makes me prefer the tepid contents of the demijohn. I have made great efforts to cool it; sewed it up in cloth and swung it from a nail in the piazza—all in vain. From contrast to my expectations, I suppose, it seems hotter than ever, so I gulp down the clear liquid, saying to myself, "you are obeying one of the first laws of health in not drinking cold water—only fools fill their digestive organs with icy fluid."

Peaceville, July 18.

Rose at 5 o'clock and had breakfast before 6 o'clock, so as to make an early start to drive to Gregory to attend the farmers' meeting and hear the lectures by the agricultural experts. The heat is so great that the early morning or late afternoon is the only time to travel.

I got through the eighteen mile drive very quickly it seemed to me, for it had looked interminable to my mind's eye when I started, and had an hour in town before the meeting.

The hall was quite full and I was very glad when D. came forward and met me and ushered me in. It was quite a tribute to him that so many of the most primitive farmers came. They looked quite lost until he met them at the door and found seats for them with a delightful courtesy and interest.

I saw many that I knew rarely left the deep recesses of the pine forest, and it was quite touching to see the attention with which they listened. Near me were two I knew well, quite young lads, whose life had been spent in a struggle with the soil, beginning as small boys; Colonel Ben and Solomon.

I had handed the former to the Bishop to be christened. His father had selected as his name "Colonel Ben." Fortunately I asked the Bishop about it before the service began, and he answered, "He cannot be christened Colonel Ben. They can call him by that name, but the title must be left off in the service."

When I repeated this to the mother she was very stolid and said, "Par, he named him Colonel Ben, en he wishes him baptized the same."

I understood it entirely. They named him after the man who had done most for them in their lives. He had been a Colonel in the Confederate army, and after the war became a clergyman of the Episcopal Church, and their desire was to name the baby after the Colonel and not after the priest.

Poor Colonel Ben has had a hard, limited life, but has worked faithfully tilling the soil on his father's large farm. The unwonted excitement of a visit to the county-seat to hear a man tell him how to do what he'd been doing all his life was most astounding. As they tiptoed behind D. into the rather dark room filled with people I think it would have taken little to make them turn and run to the shelter of the woods.

However, they settled down and after furtive looks around devoted themselves to trying to make out what the speaker was saying. For a long time it seemed to me they were getting nothing. It was all a confused talk to them, and then he said something which roused them to interest: "And now I will tell you how to get the greatest amount of good from your barn-yard manure," and he proceeded to urge them to haul it on to the fields as fast as it accumulated.

Both Colonel Ben and Solomon leaned further and further forward in their desire not to lose one of the precious words of wisdom. It was lucky that the two seats in front of them were vacant, for the long arms were far over the seat, while the eager faces tried to bring the huge hearing members nearer to the speaker. I felt quite delighted that they had found something available, something they could carry home.

It is hard for an educated speaker to realize how his fluent speech slips off the rustic brain like water flowing over a rock. They cannot absorb it; it is all over before they have caught on.

After it was all over I met Colonel Ben, Solomon, and their father wandering along the street. I stopped and spoke, asked them if they were going to the banquet which had been prepared for the audience.

No, they reckoned they'd be gittin' on home.

But I urged them, saying I felt sure R. L. A. expected them and would be looking for them.

"Wall, he's the one got me en the boys into this trouble; he wouldn't take no, we jest had to cum, en hare we is."

I started them on the way to the hall and hope they got there and enjoyed the substantial lunch provided. No doubt these meetings do an immense deal of good if as in this instance the local director is a man of enthusiasm and able to throw it into the work and take an interest in all the individual farmers who are so cut off from the interests of the rest of the world.

They think that to scratch over many acres of land, guiltless of manure or help of any kind, with a yoke of oxen and then to have all the family from the oldest to the youngest turn out and plant the corn by hand, disturbing it as little as possible by work until it is ready to harvest, is to be a farmer, and they are satisfied. In the spring R. L. A. was trying to persuade one of these very satisfied old men to plant a few acres under the direction of the Department. He turned on him.

"Look a' yere, young man," he said, "I bin fa'ming long before y'u ever wus thought of, en I want y'u to onderstan' I don't believe in deep ploughin', I don't."

R. L. A. used all his blandishments until the old man promised to plant two acres by his directions, beginning with deep ploughing. He told me that when he went back some months later the old man said:—

"Youngster, I don't know what's the reason, but I kyan't get any of my corn to grow but them two akers o' yourn—the dry drought is just a-burning up the rest o' my corn." And still later when the steady rains set in and he went that way the old man clapped him on the back and said with much embellishment of action:—

"Well, you've got me; the rain's done finished the rest of the corn, but them akers of yourn jest keep on a-growin' en a-growin', en I jest tell you now next year I plants jest about half o' what I bin a-plantin' en I ploughs it all deep en does jest es you tells me to do."

That was a wonderful triumph for the young director, and he tells me there are many such cases.

July 21.

Having land prepared for turnips, which are a very important winter crop for us. The corn and cotton both look very well, also the potatoes, and the little amount of rice planted is fine. The agricultural society of the State hasoffered a prize of $100 for the best results in hay from five acres of alfalfa during 1906, and I have determined to enter the contest. I know I cannot get the prize, but trying for it will make me more careful in planting and preparing the land. They give very exact directions and insist on a great deal of fertilizer being used—that is, what seems to me a great deal, and I never would spend all that money unless I were in a way forced to it by entering the contest. I am now reading everything I can find on the subject of alfalfa, and there is a great deal to be found.

Wrote to George T. Moore for inoculating material for alfalfa. I am so delighted that he is back in the Department of Agriculture, so that I can write to him. I have been miserable over what I considered the great injustice to him, and am so thankful that amends have been made and he has been reinstated.

I am so happy to-day over a check received from a liberal paymaster that I am quite stupid. I had sent off the last money I had in the bank for fertilizer for the alfalfa, and was feeling anxious, and now I am so relieved.

Peaceville, July 23.

With great difficulty got Chloe off to Gregory to make a visit to her daughter and see her grandchildren.

I have to push and force Chloe to take the smallest holiday or relaxation. She cannot drive, so of course I had to send Dab to be her charioteer.

I told her to broil a nice, 'cubator chicken and put it in the safe, and I have a very nice loaf of bread which I made yesterday, and with delicious fresh butter and tomatoes I will be independent of cooks for two whole days.

In this blessed hamlet of Peaceville, Bible methods prevail to a great extent, and people do as they would be done by. One finds out what vegetable one's neighbor is short of, and if you happen to have that special thing in abundance, you fill a basket, put a dainty doily over it, and despatch your inevitable small boy to your neighbor with a pleasant message. Of course she is too delicate to return her abundant vegetable by the same messenger, but later in the day or the next morning arrives her small boy with a dainty covered tray, and you receive a supply of the vegetable you lack with an elegant note.

I got Chloe off to make a visit to her daughter.

I planted a great many tomatoes, but for want of work during my month's absence they are very backward, while my dear friend and neighbor, in the best sense of the word, Miss Penelope, has an abundance of large, smooth red tomatoes, and daily I receive a little tray of them. I have only very prosaic vegetables as yet, beans and Irish potatoes, butthey are fine and plentiful, so Dab makes expeditions with the tray, but without the note which is Peaceville etiquette—a little note asking particularly the state of your health and mentioning the height of the mercury, and saying that though doubtless it is sending coals to Newcastle you venture to offer some of your poor products.

I have a box tacked on the wall by my writing-table into which I drop all the notes received. I keep them, for they breathe such kindliness, and seem an echo of the past when people had time to think of others. By the end of the summer they would nearly fill a half bushel.

To-day I tried to conceal the fact of Chloe's absence. I was invited out to dinner, but I was so exhausted after the service that I was not equal to going. Though I had made every effort to get Chloe off before service, she was not ready when I left, so I told her to lock up the house and put the key under the pot of heliotrope on the shelf in the piazza, where I found it, and opening the door, which gave light enough for me to read by, I lay on the lounge in the dark, shut-up house till afternoon, when I felt sufficiently rested to get up and take my frugal, but delicious, repast of cold chicken, bread and butter and raw tomatoes. Thanks to one of my unknown, far-away friends, I can enjoy my glass of artesian water. He wrote from Saratoga, suggesting that I should fill a stone jug with the artesian water, attach a long rope, and sink it in the well. I have done this, and by this simple expedient I have delightful, pure drinking water at a temperature of 63 degrees, without having ice. When the mercury is soaring in the 90s 63 seems cold, and I do not ask for better. Except for keeping the milk and butter and having a treat of ice-cream occasionally I really do not miss ice, now that my little brown jug is swung in the well, and I am very grateful to my far-away friend.

At dark arrives Miss Penelope bearing a large tray, "Oh, my dear, I have just heard that Chloe and Dab were seen this morning driving out of the village and have never been seen to return! And to think of your being all alone here, and we not knowing! And we had such a delightful dinner! If only I had known! But I have brought you a bowl of cold okra soup and a little dish of ice-cream, for we had a celebration to-day, a birthday dinner."

As soon as I could I told her I had had a dinner fit for a king, and now this wonderful and delicious treat of ice-cream made it perfect.

I read S. D. Gordon's "Quiet Talks on Power" all day in the darkened room, and I feel as though I might develop into a dynamo of the first order.

Peaceville is one of the corners of the world where Sunday is carefully observed. No one thinks of reading a novel or even a magazine on the day of rest. TheSpirit of Missions, theChurchman, theDiocese, and sermons are the only mental food digestible on that day. I often find myself reading "The Spectator" in theOutlook, but if a neighbor comes in I put it hastily out of sight.

I really do not miss ice, now that my little brown jug is swung in the well.

Last Sunday my dear Miss Penelope, whose whole life is a sermon of unselfish devotion and service, never resting, for on Sunday after her laborious six days in the "store"—which has done such wonderful things, supporting the family, educating all the younger members and finally paying off the mortgage on the plantation—she is our sole dependence as an organist and she never fails us. She understands the "instrument," as the organ is always called by Peacevillians.

This special organ is her own, which she has lent the church. The one which belongs to the church was originally a fine organ and was given to this little chapel some thirty years ago by a rich young man in New York, who had it for his own use and who was dying and expressed the wish that it should go to some place where it would do good. Our little church was without one and the rector happening to be in New York at the time, it was given to him. From that day to this it has been in use constantly, and without repair.

Church mice are proverbially active and they showed great fondness for the material of the bellows, so that the "instrument" was in a sad and wheezing condition, making respectable sounds difficult. I, being an optimist of the first water and having received constant proof of my having the right view of life, said boldly two years ago, just before the storm which laid us all low, that I would undertake to pack the organ and send it away to be repaired. A tuner who came to tune my beloved piano that spring said that he would repair the organ for $40 if we sent to it him in Carrolton.

I had had experience of the great liberality of the makers of my piano in the matter of exchange. During a period of forty years more or less I have had four pianos. Each time that by some good fortune I felt I might give myself the blessing of a new piano I wrote to the makers and told them I was sending on the old piano and wished a new one. They always allowed me a handsome price for the old piano. Reasoning from this experience that all great makers would act in the same way, I wrote to Boston to say I was sending the organ for repair or exchange, as seemed best to them, and asking their best terms, stating that by this parish there had been bought five melodeons of their make, including two baby organs.

Immediately came a letter to say the repairs would cost $80 and when they were made the organ would be worth $250. I wrote back in despair to say we could not possibly raise $80 for repairs, but would accept any melodeon they would send in exchange for our organ, which by their estimate was now worth $170. The answer came promptly—they could not offer any exchange; the organ was in their way; please answer at once.

So here am I, having sent off the property of the church on my own responsibility, and it will probably lapse by dint of possession before we can possibly raise $80 for the repairs. At night when I am very tired, the organ has a way of rising up before me in accusation and I feel it is an "instrument" worthy of the Inquisition.

It has been two years now an unwelcome guest in its childhood's Boston home. Meantime we are using Miss Penelope's organ, which is not fair, for she can never practise the hymns at home, having no instrument.

I began all this to tell of Miss Penelope's temptation. Last Sunday afternoon the unwonted sight of an automobile struck the village. Great excitement among all those who were so fortunate as to be strolling along the dusty road, among whom was Miss Penelope.

The occupants proved to be friends of hers and when they got out to make a visit in the village they asked her and two ladies with her to get in the machine and take a little turn. Now, Miss Penelope had never been in an auto and she accepted at once. They went two or three blissful miles and then came the awakening. Every face they met was set in solemn wonder that she, Miss Penelope, a pillar of the church (if the church is ever allowed confessedly to rest on feminine foundation), should ride in an auto on Sunday.

Words failed, but looks were all powerful. That night she said to me:—

"Patience, I am so ashamed of myself; I just yielded to temptation, you may say, without a struggle. It was so hot and dusty in the roads and the thought of flying through the air was so delightful that I never thought of it being Sunday and accepted the invitation at once; and it was the most heavenly sensation! Mr. A. said the road was clear and he could exceed the speed limit without danger, and it really was like a trip to Europe, so elevating and delightful; but as soon as I stepped down from the car I realized how wicked I had been."

"My dear, I do not agree with you at all," I replied; "there were no horses being driven for pleasure on their day of rest; there was nothing but the cogs and wheels of a machine and half a pint of gasolene. You were perfectly right to go. Don't mind what any one may say. It was a perfectly innocent recreation and refreshment, which you of all people are certainly entitled to."

But my efforts were in vain, though she said: "It is a great comfort to find you do not blame me, but I must blame myself."

July 24.

Good Miss E. spent last night here so that I should have some one near, and she made me a delicious cup of coffee and a nice little breakfast in spite of all I could say. Then she went home, and I fed the chickens and washed up the dishes and did all the housework, drawing buckets and buckets of water from the well, and I felt so proud and pleased with myself when I found it was only 9:30 and I had done all the work, for I had to do Dab's as well as Chloe's.

It is a great thing to know just what the work is, and if you do it once yourself you know just what the labor is. It is not a third of the amount of work I had supposed.

After finishing I sat down in the door of the sitting room to get every breath of air and embroidered and had a day ofluxury—no interruptions, except when one waiter arrived with tomatoes, another with a muskmelon, and just at noon a specially dainty little tray with a glass of blackberry shrub and, O joy, a lump of ice in it.

I do not know when I have had such a quiet, peaceful day. As the horse and vehicle were gone I had no way of going to the plantation, which is my daily duty, and so felt free to enjoy myself.

July 28.

My poor Chloe is very ill with rheumatism—it is distressing, she suffers so. Dab is distinguishing himself and so am I.

I rise at five, so as to churn and knead and do my part of Chloe's work. Dab does the cooking very well and with enthusiasm. I am conscious that with both of us it is the enthusiasm of new brooms and am looking with terror to the inevitable slump.

I have never been an early riser, and the thought of the stern resolution I have made, to get up at five punctually, keeps me waking up all night long. I strike a match, look at the little clock on the table at the head of the bed, and think with delight how many hours there are before the fateful five strikes. I am losing pounds daily in the process, but make up in pride over my strenuosity.

On the plantation the struggle to get all the peas ploughed in for hay is most exhausting. Gibbie says he is sick, and I have engaged Loppy to do it, but he finds fault with the team and the plough.

Sunday, July 30.

A pleasant service and good sermon in our little church. When I got home to my great joy found C. and John. We got out the little old black leather-covered trunks which came from the log house, where they were stored, and looked over some of the papers in them.

Found many old letters from grandmother to papa when he was at West Point, beautiful letters, urging on him duty, discipline, and diligence. Oh, what an inestimable blessing to a boy to have such a mother and to value the letters so that here almost a century later they are found carefully kept; I suppose all she wrote, for postage was so high then that letters were not an everyday or a weekly matter.

August 24.

Reading with great pleasure the "Life and Letters of Washington Allston," and came upon so many bits of wisdom which I would like to keep, for instance:—

"Confidence is the soul of genius.... A little seasonable vanity is the best friend we can have."

"It was a saying of Alcibiades, and I believe a very just one, that 'When souls of a certain order did not perform all they wished it was because they had not courage to attempt all they could.'"

All this written by my great-uncle Washington Allston, August 24, 1801, to the artist Charles Frazer—to-day 109 years ago. We have a very beautiful miniature of him and it has the face of a wise man and almost a saint.

Peaceville, September 1.

A beautiful morning, though clouds are still flying. Everything is fresh and sparkling after the rain.

Had a terrible temptation—a letter yesterday from A. C. begging me to join her in Columbia to-morrow and make the journey with her to Highlands, where my sisters and their families are. All summer J. has been urging me to spend the hot months with her, and sent the check for my travelling expenses, which I returned, as it seemed to me my duty to stay here.

Now the thought of that wonderful exhilarating climateand beautiful scenery with all my dear ones was too much for me. I determined to go. Drove to Cherokee and gave Bonaparte directions for the conduct of everything during my absence, specially the curing of my precious pea-vine hay. Sent word to the ferryman to have the flat on this side of the river at 3:30a.m.Had the shafts taken off and pole on the buckboard, so as to drive the pair, as I wished to take my steamer trunk with me.

It would be necessary to leave here at 2:10a.m.to take the 6a.m.train, though it is only eighteen miles; but the ferry represents an unknown quantity. After all was done I felt very light-hearted. To turn my back on heat and worry, on discouragement and continual effort, was delightful and I walked down to the barn-yard with light and springy tread.

On my way the gorgeous sunset struck me and I stopped, spellbound by its infinite beauty. Oh, the tenderness of the light, fleecy pink clouds; oh, the passionate red of the darker ones; oh, the golden glow of the horizon! Could anything hold more intense beauty and delight? Could one look at that and shrink from toil and moil and sweat in the path of duty? Was I a coward? Was I a shirk? Had I not chosen my own path and was I too much of a weakling to walk in it? Was I willing to leave the burden and heat of the day for two old darkies to struggle through alone?

I stood there filling my soul with beauty and strength until the last beam faded, then went to old Bonaparte and countermanded all my orders. It was all easily done except to notify the ferryman that he need not be ready for me, and I will send him a little present to make up for that. I have but one distress. I wrote to my sister by to-day's mail to say if it was possible to do it I would go, and I hate to think of her disappointment.

I drove back to the pineland in my little old rattling buckboard, it being too late to have the pole taken off of the other one, and a great peace filled me. Chloe was overjoyed at my change of plan, though she had encouraged my going in every way and had my trunk all packed. As for Goliah, he fairly glittered with joy, which condition was contributed to by the habit he has taken up recently of greasing his broad little black face very thoroughly with the vaseline I provide for keeping the harness soft. He seems to find infinite comfort from rubbing a quantity on his hands and then massaging his face very hard with both hands. It always amuses me, it is such an odd thing for a child to do.

September 4.

A glorious autumn day, really cold. I was very busy all morning bottling some blackberry wine made in 1903. Somehow there was great haste all day. At the plantation got very unhappy over the fear of cockspurs in the hay. It is impossible to make the negroes understand the importance of destroying them. Last year the horses had none of the best hay. It was all kept for the cows because there were a few cockspurs in it.

The scuppernong grapes are ripening very fast and are delicious.

September 6.

I certainly have been rewarded for not going to the mountains, for the mountain coolness has come to me—the weather has been perfect since the day after my decision. This morning Nat came from Casa Bianca looking more cheerful than usual. He told me he had nearly sold my cow Onyx.

I received this rather coldly with the commonplace as to a miss being equal to a mile in such cases. He said Mr. E. had come up with his brother to look at the cow and asked him the price and he answered $27.50, and that the brothertook out the money and counted it out into his hands when Mr. E. came up and said:—

"I can make a better bargain with Mrs. Pennington than that. I'll write to her. Take back your money."

"Nat said: 'De money luk very sweet een my han's, but I gie um back to de gen'leman. Yu get letter frum em yet?'"

"No," I said, "but I can't imagine what made you say $27.50 for that cow with her splendid calf. I never said less than $30. I am glad that trade is off."

This was true and yet not true. I never would have sold Onyx for less than $30 myself, but if Nat had brought the smaller sum at this moment I would not have reproved him, as the constant call of the laborers to be paid presses on me daily.

After much wandering talk Nat took from his pocket a roll of money and counted it out to me, saying: "Ef I ain't succeed to sell de cow, I dun sell John Smit fu t'irty dolla'!" and there it was.

I was too thankful for words and yet sorry to part with John Smith, a handsome, long-legged Brahmin steer, who travels like a horse. However, as he is not yet three years old it is a fine sale and I praised Nat accordingly and gave him a dollar. Every time I think I am going to have a fine young pair of oxen I find myself obliged to part with them and be content with my faithful old ones, for there is always good sale for the steers even when nothing else sells.

At Cherokee I saw no sign of Gibbie, but was pleased to see the three milch cows tethered in the lush grass of the corn-field. I have long tried to get Gibbie to do this, in vain; it is not the habit in this country, and Gibbie is sure would have fatal results. What made him come to it I do not know, but I was delighted to see them knee deep in grass, evidently satisfied, for they were not eating, only chewing their cud meditatively.

I passed on to the house and after a while went down to the garden to see about the turnips. Just as I was about to cross the little foot bridge which leads from the barn-yard I saw basking on the plank a terrible looking moccasin. I turned away to get a stick long enough and strong enough to give me courage to attack him. When I came back armed the snake had disappeared, and I was about to cross when some instinct warned me to look well, and there just under the bridge in the flowers and grass that grew so luxuriantly as almost to touch it, I saw the beady eyes in the erect asp-like head fixed on me.

I summoned all my nerve and after a severe struggle killed the deadly thing. Even after I threw it some distance away with my strong staff it was hard to make myself cross the narrow bridge. I finally did get into the garden and found the turnips in great need of work.

On my way back I looked into the field where the cows were, and there was Moselle, my thoroughbred Guernsey, whom I had seen all right a half hour before, prostrate on the ground, her head under her! I flew through the gate and to her, to find that the horns were fastened in the ground, her forelegs bent over her head. The rope round her hind leg had evidently caught when she went to lie down or get up, I don't know which.

I called aloud for Gibbie, Bonaparte, Goliah, but no one came. Moselle's breathing was like a very loud snore. I tugged at her forefoot to lift it off from her head, putting all my strength, but in vain; when exhausted by the great effort, I called again and again, then getting no answer returned to the tugging.

At last I succeeded by a mighty effort, then another mighty effort, and I got her horns out of the earth and put her head in a natural position, when she lay as if dead. The terrible sound in her breathing had ceased, but she plainly said shewas dying. I loosed the rope from her foot and from her head and encouraged her to get up, but she lay with closed eyes, and I left her, for I know how easily cows give up and die.

I went up to the house, where Goliah was putting Ruth in the buckboard, for it was sunset. Then Gibbie appeared and I told him Moselle was dying and reproached him for being away from his post of duty. When I drove out after all this expenditure of feeling Moselle was quietly eating as though nothing unusual had befallen her. I felt like Mother Hubbard after her trip to the undertaker's. Altogether it was a trying afternoon and I am very tired.

September 7.

Had some important writing to do this morning, but before I could begin Patty came in to say two "ladies" wanted to see me. I went out to find Totem's two daughters, who wished to get me to protect their property for them.

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