to the smallest glowing coal upon the hearth.
Meantime, while she is preparing for a smoke, her companions have taken
from their pockets, each a tin snuff-box and a mop, which mop consists
of a small twig, chewed at the end into threads or fibers. This mop, wet
with saliva, is thrust into the box of Scotch snuff, thence thrust into
the mouth, and worked around upon the teeth much to the delight and
constant spitting of the performer. This operation, so prevalent both
among white and black women of the South, is called "_dipping_ snuff."

Having followed our sable friends from grief to indignation, and from
indignation to the charming amusement of snuff-dipping, we will enter
the house and make acquaintance with its master.

CHAPTER II.

THE MASTER'S CONFERENCE WITH HIMSELF.

It was late in September, and chilly for the season. A bright fire
glowed upon the hearth in the "lady's chamber" at Kennons. Red curtains
shaded the windows, and drooped in folds to the floor. Roses and green
leaves seemed springing up out of the carpet to meet the light and
warmth that radiated from the small semicircle behind the glittering
fender. A bed hung with white curtains, a dressing bureau, with its
fancy pincushion, and numerous cut-glass bottles of perfumery, a lounge
covered with bright patchwork, and furnished with log-cabin cushions,
easy-chairs and ottomans, together with the workstand and its
inseparable little basket filled with every indispensable for
needlework--all, all bore the trace of woman's hand.

For nine years this had been the loved family-room of Duncan and Ellice
Lisle.

Now, Ellice was forever gone. Her foot had passed the threshold, to come
in, to go out, no more. Her canary hung in the window; how could he sing
on the morrow, missing _her_ accustomed voice? Her picture hung over the
mantle, looking down with the old-time brightness upon the the solitary
figures beforefire--Duncan and his child.

Hubert, the son, in his eighth year, sitting clasped in his father's
arms, had pierced anew that tortured heart by asking questions about his
mother and the mystery of death, which no human mind can answer. The
child was in a vortex of wonder, grief and speculation. It was the first
great lesson of his life, and he would learn it well, the more that it
was so severe and incomprehensible. But sleep and fatigue overcame
Hubert at length. The light from the fire no more danced with his
shifting curls, but settl