de grave," said Aunt Sally, the nurse of the
quarter, gently taking the child, while Mr. Travilla and Elsie bound up
the wounded arm, speaking soothingly to the sufferer, and promising the
doctor's aid as soon as it could be procured.

Aunt Sally sat near attending to the last offices for the tiny corpse,
little Elsie looking on, with big tears coursing down her cheeks.
Presently going to her mother's side, she whispered a few words in her
ear.

"Yes, dear, you may go to the bureau drawer and choose it yourself," was
the prompt reply, and the child ran into the house, returning directly
with a baby's slip of fine white muslin, delicately embroidered.

"Put this on him, Aunt Sally," she said; "mamma gave me leave to get
it."

Then going to the bereaved mother, and clasping the dusky, toil-worn
hand with her soft, white fingers, "Don't cry, Minerva," she said, "you
know poor little Ben was always sick, and now he is well and happy. And
if you love Jesus, you will go to be with him again some day."

Evidently much gratified by the honor done her dead babe, Minerva sobbed
out her thanks for that, and the dressing of her wounded arm, and
dropping a courtesy, followed Aunt Sally as she bore the corpse into
Aunt Dicey's cabin close by.

The scanty furniture of Minerva's own had been completely demolished by
the desperadoes, and her husband terribly beaten.

He and one or two others had not come up with the crowd, presumably from
inability to do so, and Mr. Travilla now mounted his horse and went in
search of them.

They had been left by their assailants in the woods, where one--"Uncle
Mose"--dreadfully crippled by rheumatism, still lay on the ground half
dead with bruises, cuts, and pistol shot wounds.

Another had crawled to his cabin and fainted upon its threshold; while a
third lay weltering in his gore some yards distant from his.

Mr. Travilla had them all carried into their houses, and made as
comfortable as circumstances would permit, and a messenger was
dispatched in all haste for Dr. Barton.

The family at Fairview had slept through the night undisturbed by the
vicinity, or acts of the raiders. Mr. Leland's first intimation of their
visit was received as he opened the front door at his usual early hour
for beginning his morning round of the plantation.

He almost started back at the sight of a rude pine coffin directly
before him; but recovering himself instantly, stooped to read a label
affixed to the