“For what hour will you have the carriage ordered, my dear?” Lester asked, as they left the table.  “Ten, if you please,” she answered.  “I hope you will go with us?”

“I shall do so with pleasure,” he said.  “It is a lovely morning for a drive; the rain has laid the dust and the air is just cool enough to be bracing.”

Evelyn was on the veranda, gazing about her with a thoughtful air.

“Well, lassie, what think you of Fairview?” asked her uncle, coming to her side.

“I like it,” she answered emphatically.  “Didn’t something happen here, uncle, in the time of the Ku-Klux raids?  I seem to have heard there did.”

“Yes; a coffin, with a threatening notice attached, was laid at the gate yonder one night.  My uncle owned, and lived on, the place at that time, and by reason of his northern birth and Republican sentiments, was obnoxious to the members of the klan.”

“And it was he they were threatening?”

“Yes.  They afterward attacked the place, wounded and drove him into the woods, but were held at bay and finally driven off by the gallant defence of her home made by my aunt, assisted by her son, then quite a young boy.

“But get Elsie to tell you the story; she can do it far better than I; especially as she was living at Ion at that time, and though a mere child, has still a vivid recollection of all the circumstances.”

“Yes,” Elsie said, “including the attacks upon Ion—­first the quarter, when they burnt the schoolhouse, and afterward the mansion—­and several sad scenes connected with them.”

“How interesting to hear all about them from an eye-witness,” exclaimed Evelyn.  “I am eager to have you begin, Aunt Elsie.”

“Perhaps I may be able to do so this evening,” returned her aunt; “but now I must give my orders for the day, and then it will be time for our drive.”

“What does your mamma say?” asked Lester of Evelyn, when Elsie had left them alone together.

“Not very much that I care for, uncle,” sighed the little girl.  “She’s in good health, but very tired of foreign cookery; wishes she could have such a breakfast every morning as she has been accustomed to at home.  Still she enjoys the sights, and thinks it may be a year, or longer, before she gets back.  She describes some of the places, and paintings and statuary she has seen; but that part of the letter I have not read yet.”

“Do you wish you were with her, Eva?” he asked, smoothing her hair as she stood by his side, and gazing down affectionately into her eyes.

“No, uncle; I should like to see mamma, of course, but at present I like this quiet home far better than going about among crowds of strange people.”

He looked pleased.  “I am glad you are content,” he said.

Elsie was full of life and gayety as they set out upon their drive.  Her husband remarked it with pleasure.

“Yes,” she said lightly, “it is so nice to be going back to my old, childhood’s home after so long an absence; to see mammy, too—­dear old mammy!  And yet it will hardly seem like home either, without mamma.”