d her stick times, fancyin' there'er dogs comin' into
de kitchen."

"A dog bit her once way back in the '60's," said Miss Pinckney; "they used
to keep dogs here then. She don't want for anything?"

"Law no, miss, _she_ done want for nothin'; look at her now laffin' to
herself. Haven't seen her do that way dis long time. Hi, Prue, what yo'
laffin' at?"

Prue, instead of answering leant further forward hiding her face without
checking her merriment.

"Crazy," said Miss Pinckney, "but it's better to be laughing crazy than
crying crazy like some folk--here's a quarter and get her some candy."

She put the coin on the table and marched off followed by Phyl.

"She wanted to tell me something," said Phyl as they were driving to the
cemetery; "she beckoned me to her and took hold of my arm and whispered
something."

"What did she say?"

Phyl, somehow, could not bring herself to betray that crazy confidence.

"I don't know, exactly, but she called me Miss Julie."

"Oh--she called you Miss Julie," said the other. Then she relapsed into
thought and nothing more was said till they reached their destination.

CHAPTER V

Charleston's Magnolia Cemetery like everything else about Charleston shows
the touch of the War. Here the soldiers lie who fought so bravely under
Wade Hampton and here lies the general himself.

Go south, go north, and you will not find a place touched by the War where
you will not find noble memories, echoes of heroic deeds, legends of brave
men.

Miss Pinckney was by no means a peace party and this thought was doubtless
in her head as she stood surveying the confederate graves. There were
relations here and men whom she had known as a child.

"That's the War," said she, "and people abuse war as if it was the worst
thing in the world, insulting the dead. 'Clare to goodness it makes me
savage to hear the pasty-faces talking of war and making plans to abolish
it. It's like hearing a lot of children making plans to abolish thunder
storms. Where would America be now without the War, and where'd her
history be? You tell me that. It'd just be the history of a big canning
factory. These men aren't dead, they're still alive and fighting--fighting
Chicago; fighting pork, and wheat, and cotton and railway-stock and
everything else that's abolishing the soul of the nation.

"There's Matt Carey's grave. He had everything he wanted, and he wasn't
young. Now-a-days he'd have been driving in his automob