ve been a very good driving road, had it not been for the
occasional protrusion of tree roots, which gave the wheels a little
bump, and for the branches which, now and then, hung down somewhat too
low for the comfort of a lady and gentleman, riding in a rather high
spring-wagon without a cover. But Lawrence drove slowly, and so the
root bumps were not noticed; and when the low-hanging boughs were on
his side, he lifted them so that his companion's head could pass under
and, when they happened to be on her side, Annie ducked her head,
and her hat was never brushed off. But, at times, they drove quite a
distance without overhanging boughs, and the pine trees, surrounded by
their smooth carpet of brown spines, gave forth a spicy fragrance in
the warm, but sparkling air; the oak trees stood up still dark and
green; while the chestnuts were all dressed in rich yellow, with the
chinquepin bushes by the roadside imitating them in color, as they
tried to do in fruit. Sometimes a spray of purple flowers could be
seen among the trees, and great patches of sunlight which, here
and there, came through the thinning foliage, fell, now upon the
brilliantly scarlet leaves of a sweet-gum, and now upon the polished
and brown-red dress of a neighboring black-gum.

The woods were very quiet. There was no sound of bird or insect, and
the occasional hare, or "Molly Cotton-tail," as Annie delightedly
called it, who hopped across the road, made no noise at all. A gentle
wind among the tops of the taller trees made a sound as of a distant
sea; but, besides this, little was heard but the low, crunching noise
of the wheels, and the voices of Lawrence and Miss Annie.

Reaching a place where the road branched, Lawrence stopped the horse,
and looked up each leafy lane. They were completely deserted. White
people seldom walked abroad at this hour on Sunday, and the negroes
of the neighborhood were at church. "Is not this a frightfully lonely
place?" he said. "One might imagine himself in a desert."

"I like it," replied Annie. "It is so different from the wild,
exciting tumult of that church. I am glad you took me away. At first I
would not have missed it for the world, but there seemed to come into
the stormy scene something oppressive, and almost terrifying."

"I am glad I took you away," said Lawrence, "but it seems to me that
your impression was not altogether natural. I thought that, amid all
that mad enthusiasm, you were over-excited, not de