“Well, now, honey, you hab ‘lieve yo’ min’, en I specs you feel bettah.  You mus’ des promis yo’ ole mammy dat you be keerful en not rile up ole mars’r, kase hit’ll ony be harder fer you.  I’se ole, en I knows tings do hap’n dough dey of’un come slowlike.  You des gwine troo de woods now, en kyant see fur; bimeby you come ter a clearin’.  Dat boy ob mine be comin’ soon fer his pone en bacon.  I’se gwinter do a heap ob tinkin’ on all de questions you riz.”

“Yes, Aun’ Jinkey, I do feel better for speaking out, but I expect I shall do a heap of thinking too.  Good-by,” and she strolled away toward the brook.

CHAPTER II

SOMETHING HAPPENS

It was a moody little stream which Miss Lou was following.  She did not go far before she sat down on a rock and watched the murmuring waters glide past, conscious meantime of a vague desire to go with them into the unknown.  She was not chafing so much at the monotony of her life as at its restrictions, its negation of all pleasing realities, and the persistent pressure upon her attention of a formal round of duties and more formal and antiquated circle of thoughts.  Only as she stole away into solitudes like the one in which she now sat dreaming could she escape from the hard materialism of routine, and chiding for idleness usually followed.  Her aunt, with an abundance of slaves at her command, could have enjoyed much leisure, yet she was fussily and constantly busy, and the young girl could not help feeling that much which she was expected to do was a mere waste of time.

The serene beauty of the evening, the songs of the mocking and other birds, were not without their effect, however, and she said aloud:  “I might be very happy even here if, like the birds, I had the heart to sing—­and I would sing if I truly lived and had something to live for.”

The sun was approaching the horizon, and she was rising wearily and reluctantly to return when she heard the report of firearms, followed by the sound of swiftly galloping horses.  Beyond the brook, on the margin of which she stood, rose a precipitous bank overhung with vines and bushes, and a few rods further back was a plantation road descending toward a wide belt of forest.  A thick copse and growth of young trees ran from the top of the bank toward the road, hiding from her vision that portion of the lane from which the sounds were approaching.  Suddenly half a dozen cavalrymen, whom she knew to be Federals from their blue uniforms, galloped into view and passed on in the direction of the forest.  One of the group turned his horse sharply behind the concealing copse and spurred directly toward her.  She had only time to throw up her hands and utter an involuntary cry of warning about the steep bank, when the horse sprang through the treacherous shrubbery and fell headlong into the stream.  The rider saw his peril, withdrew his feet from the stirrups, and in an instinctive