Diddie is a widow still.  She was young and pretty when the war ended, and has had many offers of marriage; but a vision of a cold white face, with its fair hair dabbled in blood, is ever in her heart.  So Diddie lives for her boy.  Their home is in Natchez now; for of course they could never live in the old place any more.  When the slaves were free, they had no money to rebuild the houses, and the plantation has never been worked since the war.

The land is just lying there useless, worthless; and the squirrels play in and out among the trees, and the mocking-birds sing in the honeysuckles and magnolias and rose-bushes where the front yard used to be.

And at the quarters, where the happy slave-voices used to sing “Monkey Motions,” and the merry feet used to dance to “Cotton-eyed Joe,” weeds and thick underbrush have all grown up, and partridges build their nests there; and sometimes, at dusk, a wild-cat or a fox may be seen stealing across the old playground.

Tot, long years ago, before the war even, when she was yet a pure, sinless little girl, was added to that bright band of angel children who hover around the throne of God; and so she was already there, you see, to meet and welcome her “papa” when his stainless soul went up from Malvern Hill.

Well, for “Mammy” and “Daddy Jake” and “Aunt Milly” and “Uncle Dan’l,” “dat angel” has long since “blowed de horn,” and I hope and believe they are happily walking “dem golden streets” in which they had such implicit faith, and of which they never wearied of telling.

And the rest of the negroes are all scattered; some doing well, some badly; some living, some dead.  Aunt Sukey’s Jim, who married Candace that Christmas-night, is a politician.  He has been in Legislature, and spends his time in making long and exciting speeches to the loyal leaguers against the Southern whites, all unmindful of his happy childhood, and of the kind and generous master who strove in every way to render his bondage (for which that master was in no way to blame) a light and happy one.

Uncle Snake-bit Bob is living still.  He has a little candy-store in a country town.  He does not meddle with politics.  He says, “I don’t cas’ my suffrins fur de Dimercracks, nur yit fur de ’Publicans.  I can’t go ‘ginst my color by votin’ de Dimercrack papers; an’ ez fur dem ’Publicans!  Well, ole Bob he done hyear wat de Book say ’boutn publicans an’ sinners, an’ dat’s ernuff fur him.  He’s er gittin’ uperds in years now; pretty soon he’ll hatter shove off fur dat ‘heb’nly sho’,” an’ wen de Lord sen’ atter him, he don’t want dat angel ter catch him in no kinwunshuns ’long wid ‘publicans an’ sinners.’” And so Uncle Bob attends to his store, and mends chairs and tubs, and deals extensively in chickens and eggs; and perhaps he is doing just as well as if he were in Congress.

Dilsey and Chris and Riar are all women now, and are all married and have children of their own; and nothing delights them more than to tell their little ones what “us an’ de white chil’en usen ter do.”