“A good daughter deserves a good father,” he answered, smoothing with soft caressing motion the shining hair.  “But have you the necessary data for our estimates?”

“The number to be clothed, papa?  I know how many house-servants, how many babies and older children at the quarter, but not the number of field hands.”

“That will be easily ascertained.  I will send a note to Spriggs, who can tell us all about it.”

Mr. Dinsmore’s plans were carried out to the letter, and with entire success.  This was Saturday; the orders were sent that afternoon, and on Monday morning the work began.  Aunt Chloe proved fully equal to the cutting of the garments, and Uncle Joe an apt scholar under her patient, loving teaching, and a willing worker at his new employment.  There was scarcely need of even oversight on the part of the young mistress.  She would drop in occasionally, commend their industry, and inquire if anything were wanting; then felt free for books, rides or walks, music or conversation with her father.

But she was often down at the quarter visiting the sick, the aged and infirm, seeing that their wants were supplied, reading the Bible to them, praying with them, telling of the better land where no trouble or sorrow can come, and trying to make the way to it, through the shed blood of Christ, very plain and clear.  Then she would gather the children about her and tell them of the blessed Jesus and His love for little ones.

“Does He lub niggahs, missus?” queried one grinning little wooly head.

“Yes, if they love Him:  and they won’t be negroes in heaven.”

“White folks, missus?  Oh, dat nice!  Guess I go dar; ef dey let me in.”

But we are anticipating somewhat, though Elsie found time for a short visit to the sick and aged on the afternoon of even that first day at Viamede.  The next was the Sabbath, and as lovely a day as could be desired.  The horses were ordered for an early hour, and father and daughter rode some miles together to morning service, then home again.

As the shadows began to lengthen in the afternoon, Elsie was sitting alone on the veranda, her father having left her side but a moment before, when an old negro, familiarly known as Uncle Ben, came round the corner of the house, and slowly approached her.

Very sweet and fair, very beautiful she looked to his admiring eyes.  She held a Bible in her hand, and was so intent upon its perusal that she was not aware of his coming until he had drawn quite near.  Ascending the steps, and standing at a respectful distance, hat in hand, he waited till she should notice and address him.

Glancing up from her book, “Ah, Uncle Ben, good evening,” she said.  “What can I do for you?”

“Missus,” he answered, making a low salam, “all de darkies is gadered togedder under a tree ’round de house yondah, and dey ’pint me committee to come an’ ax de young missus would she be so kind for to come an’ read the Bible to dem, an’ talk, an’ pray, an’ sing like she do for de sick ones down to de quarter?  Dey be berry glad, missus, an’ more dan obliged.”