“Ah, then I think I shall meet you there and walk home with you.”

This announcement was received with a chorus of exclamations of delight; his loved companionship would double their enjoyment; it always did.

’Twas a pleasant, shady walk, not too long for the older children, and Harold’s mammy would carry him when he grew weary.  They called at the school-room, witnessed the closing exercises, then visited all the aged and ailing ones, Elsie inquiring tenderly concerning their “miseries,” speaking words of sympathy and consolation and giving additional advice; remedies too, and some little delicacies to whet the sickly appetites (these last being contained in a basket, carried by a servant).

As they left the last cabin, in the near vicinity of the post where hung the bell, which summoned the men to their meals, and gave notice of the hour for quitting work, they saw the ringer hurrying toward it.

“Oh, mamma, we’re just in time!” cried Vi, “how nice!”

“Yes,” said her sister, “mamma always knows how to make things come out right.”

Every negro family owned a cur, and at the first tap of the bell they always, with a united yelp, rushed for the spot, where they formed a ring round the post, each seated on his haunches and brushing the ground with his tail, with a rapid motion, from side to side, nose in the air, eyes fixed upon the bell, and throat sending out a prolonged howl so long as the ringing continued.  The din was deafening, and far from musical, but it was a comical sight, vastly enjoyed by the young Travillas, who saw it only occasionally.

Mr. and Mrs. Travilla were walking slowly homeward, the children and Bruno frolicking, jumping, dancing, running on before.  After a while the two little girls grew somewhat weary, and subsided into a soberer pace.

“Vi,” said Elsie, “Don’t you believe Aunt Delia might get better of those ‘miseries’ in her bones, if she had some nice new red flannel things to wear?”

“Yes; let’s buy her some,” and a pretty dimpled hand went into her pocket, and out came a dainty, silken purse, mamma’s gift on her last birthday, when she began to have a weekly allowance, like Elsie and Eddie.

“Yes, if mamma approves.”

“’Course we’ll ’sult mamma ’bout it first, and she’ll say yes; she always likes us to be kind and—­char—­char—­”

“Charitable? yes, ‘specially to Jesus’ people, and I know Aunt Delia’s one of his.  How much money have you, Vi?”

“I don’t know; mamma or papa will count when we get home.”

“I have two dollars and fifty cents; maybe Eddie will give some if we haven’t enough.”

“Enough of what?” queried Eddie, over-hearing the last words as he and Bruno neared the others in their gambols.

Elsie explained, asking, “Would you like to help?”

“Yes, and I’m going to buy some ‘baccy’ as he calls it, for old Uncle Jack.”