Berry had time for his lodge, and Fannie time to spare for her own house and garden.  Flowers bloomed in the little plot in front and behind it; vegetables and greens testified to the housewife’s industry.

Over the door of the little house a fine Virginia creeper bent and fell in graceful curves, and a cluster of insistent morning-glories clung in summer about its stalwart stock.

It was into this bower of peace and comfort that Joe and Kitty were born.  They brought a new sunlight into the house and a new joy to the father’s and mother’s hearts.  Their early lives were pleasant and carefully guarded.  They got what schooling the town afforded, but both went to work early, Kitty helping her mother and Joe learning the trade of barber.

Kit was the delight of her mother’s life.  She was a pretty, cheery little thing, and could sing like a lark.  Joe too was of a cheerful disposition, but from scraping the chins of aristocrats came to imbibe some of their ideas, and rather too early in life bid fair to be a dandy.  But his father encouraged him, for, said he, “It ’s de p’opah thing fu’ a man what waits on quality to have quality mannahs an’ to waih quality clothes.”

“‘T ain’t no use to be a-humo’in’ dat boy too much, Be’y,” Fannie had replied, although she did fully as much “humo’in’” as her husband; “hit sho’ do mek’ him biggety, an’ a biggety po’ niggah is a ’bomination befo’ de face of de Lawd; but I know ‘t ain’t no use a-talkin’ to you, fu’ you plum boun’ up in dat Joe.”

Her own eyes would follow the boy lovingly and proudly even as she chided.  She could not say very much, either, for Berry always had the reply that she was spoiling Kit out of all reason.  The girl did have the prettiest clothes of any of her race in the town, and when she was to sing for the benefit of the A. M. E. church or for the benefit of her father’s society, the Tribe of Benjamin, there was nothing too good for her to wear.  In this too they were aided and abetted by Mrs. Oakley, who also took a lively interest in the girl.

So the two doting parents had their chats and their jokes at each other’s expense and went bravely on, doing their duties and spoiling their children much as white fathers and mothers are wont to do.

What the less fortunate negroes of the community said of them and their offspring is really not worth while.  Envy has a sharp tongue, and when has not the aristocrat been the target for the plebeian’s sneers?

Joe and Kit were respectively eighteen and sixteen at the time when the preparations for Maurice Oakley’s farewell dinner to his brother Francis were agitating the whole Hamilton household.  All of them had a hand in the work:  Joe had shaved the two men; Kit had helped Mrs. Oakley’s maid; the mother had fretted herself weak over the shortcomings of a cook that had been in the family nearly as long as herself, while Berry was stern and dignified in anticipation of the glorious figure he was to make in serving.