[Illustration:  Beth’s new home. (Illustration missing from book)]

A colored woman bustled out of a side door, and looked down the road leading to the gate through which the Davenports’ carriage had entered.  Evidently, she was no common negro, but had served “quality” all her life—­a typical old-time mammy.  A red bandanna was drawn tightly over her short curly wool.  Her dress was of flowered calico, and around her neck was a brilliant-hued shawl.  A neat gingham apron covered her skirt.  Her face broke into a smile, and she pointed to the palm-lined driveway.

“Yo’ Titus—­yo’ Glory—­Indianna—­all yo’ niggahs come hyere.  De new massa and missus am comin’,” she called.

Out from the house, from the fields, from the quarters, they came trooping; old and young; weazened and pretty; black and yellow; all rolling their gleaming black eyes in the direction of the carriage which they saw come to a sudden standstill.

“What’s de mattah?” they cried, and one young darky started down the road to see.  He beheld January descend from the carriage, and walk to a persimmon tree and pluck some of the fruit.

The darky wondered what was to be done with the fruit that he knew was still green.  His curiosity made him sneak up within earshot.

January returned to the carriage, and handed the fruit to Beth.  The darky heard him say: 

“I wouldn’t eat dem, Missy Beth, if I wuz yo’.  Dey am powerful green.”

To her the little round fruit looked very tempting, especially the light yellow ones.  Therefore she did not heed him.  She selected one, but, instead of taking a dainty nibble, she put the whole fruit into her mouth, and bit down on it.  Immediately, she set up a cry, and spit out the persimmon.  “Ow-ow-ow, how it puckers!”

January chuckled, and, before driving on, he said:  “I tole yo’ so, Missy Beth.”

Marian laughed until she was tired.  “Beth, if you are drawn up inside the way your face is outside, it must be terrible.”

“It is.  It is.”  But she did not receive any sympathy.  Even Mr. Davenport laughed at her.  He had told her not to have January get them, but she had insisted on having her own way.

“Beth,” he said, “I hope this may teach you a lesson.  You must not taste things that you know nothing about.”

Her mouth was still so drawn up that she did not care to do any more tasting—­at least, not for the present.  When she thought nobody was looking, she let the rest of the persimmons roll out of the carriage.

“What do they all do?” asked Beth as the carriage came to a standstill, and she noted the waiting negroes.  As January helped her out, he chuckled, and swelled visibly with pride.  “Dey all work for us, Missy Beth.  She’s de boss,” he added in a low tone pointing to the colored woman with the bandanna.  “Dat’s Maggie; yo’d bettah make up with her.”

[Illustration:  Maggie, a typical old-time mammy.]