“There’s dozens more rising in my mind and I can’t get rid of them.  Aunt keeps my hands knitting and working for the soldiers, and I like to do it.  I’d like to be a soldier myself, for then I could go somewhere and do and see something.  Life then wouldn’t be just doing things with my hands and being told to think exactly what an old gentleman and an old lady think.  Of course our side is right in this war, but how can I believe with uncle that nearly all the people in the North are low, wicked and vile?  The idea that every Northern soldier is a monster is preposterous to me.  Uncle forgets that he has had me taught in United States history.  I wish some of them would just march by this out-of-the-way place, for I would like to see for myself what they are like.”

“Dar, dar, Miss Lou, you gittin’ too bumptious.  You like de fus’ woman who want ter know too much.”

“No,” said the girl, her blue eyes becoming dark and earnest, “I want to know what’s true, what’s right.  I can’t believe that uncle and aunt’s narrow, exclusive, comfortless religion came from heaven; I can’t believe that God agrees with uncle as to just what a young girl should do and think and be, but uncle seems to think that the wickedest thing I can do is to disagree with him and aunt.  Uncle forgets that there are books in his library, and books make one think.  They tell of life very different from mine.  Why, Aun’ Jinkey, just think what a lonely girl I am!  You are about the only one I can talk to.  Our neighbors are so far away and we live so secluded that I scarcely have acquaintances of my own age.  Aunt thinks young girls should be kept out of society until the proper time, and that time seems no nearer now than ever.  If uncle and aunt loved me, it would be different, but they have just got a stiff set of ideas about their duty to me and another set about my duty to them.  Why, uncle laughed at a kitten the other day because it was kittenish, but he has always wanted me to behave with the solemnity of an old cat.  Oh, dear!  I’m so tired.  I wish something would happen.”

“Hit brokes me all up ter year you talk so, honey, en I bless de Lawd ‘tain’ likely any ting gwinter hap’n in dese yere parts.  De wah am ragin’ way off fum heah, nobody comin’ wid news, en bimeby you gits mo’ settle down.  Some day you know de valley ob peace en quietness.”

“See here, Aun’ Jinkey,” said the girl, with a flash of her eyes, “you know the little pond off in the woods.  That’s more peaceful than the run, isn’t it?  Well, it’s stagnant, too, and full of snakes.  I’d like to know what’s going on in the world, but uncle of late does not even let me read the county paper.  I know things are not going to suit him, for he often frowns and throws the paper into the fire.  That’s what provokes me—­the whole world must go just to suit him, or else he is angry.”