The bright morning sunlight sometimes made the little girl forget to be sorrowful, and when her “Ponto” came frisking around her, she gladly joined him in a wild romp.  Immediately Maum Winnie would appear, the very picture of dignified astonishment,—­“Now, Miss Nelly, ain’t you ‘shame’?  Yer pore mar she bin had a mity onrestless night, an’ jes’ as she ‘bout to ketch a nap o’ sleep, yere you bin start all dis ‘fusion.  Now, her eye dun pop wide open, an’ she gwine straight to studyin’ agin.”  The days passed, each made more gloomy by rumors of the near approach of the enemy.  At last, one dreadful night, a regiment of Federal soldiers suddenly appeared, and at midnight Nelly and her mamma were compelled to seek shelter in Maum Winnie’s cabin.  The next morning only a heap of smoking ruins remained to show where their sweet home had been.

The plantation owned by Nelly’s papa was some three miles distant from the family residence; therefore, only the few servants necessary for household service lived upon the “home place.”  Their cabins, somewhat removed from the house, had escaped the flames.  Maum Winnie’s was larger and better furnished than any, and far more attractive in appearance.  A rustic fence, built by her old husband, “Uncle Abe” (long since dead), enclosed a small yard, where grew all kinds of bright, gaudy “posies,” with here and there a bunch of mint or parsley or sage, and an occasional stalk or two of cabbage.  Over the little porch were trained morning-glories and a flourishing gourd vine.  Beneath, on each side, ran a wide seat, where, in the shade, Maum Winnie used to sit with her knitting, or nodding over the big Bible which on Sunday evening she always pretended to read.  The neat fence was now broken down, the bright flowers all trampled and crushed by the feet of men and horses.  Inside also, the once spotless floor was muddy and stained with tobacco, all the old woman’s treasures being broken and scattered.  Amid all this confusion, in the little front room, once the pride of Winnie’s heart, was carefully placed almost the only thing saved from the burning, an easy-chair, cushioned upon the back and sides, and covered with old-fashioned chintz.  How the faithful soul had managed to get it there no one could have told, but there it stood, and Winnie said, “Dat ar wos ole mistes’ cheer, and she sot in it plum twill she die.  Ole Winnie couldn’t stan’ an’ see dat burn, nohow.”  Upon the little porch sat Nelly and her mamma on the morning after the fire, worn out with excitement, and feeling utterly forlorn.  Soon Winnie appeared, bearing upon a gay red tray two steaming cups of coffee.  Mrs. Grey took only a sip or two, then setting the cup upon the bench at her side, she grasped the arm of her old servant, and, leaning her head upon the faithful breast, began to sob and moan piteously.  Nelly at this also cried bitterly.  Tears streamed down Winnie’s fat black cheeks.  But the faithful negro tried to soothe and comfort her mistress, patting her shoulders as if she had been a baby, saying, “Dah!  Dah! honey, don’t take it so haad.  Try to truss in de Lawd.  He dun promus, an’ he aint gwine back on nobody.  I’s dun sperience dat.”