ree, but there was no
smile on his face. Turning round, he saw me sitting in the adjoining
room, and quickly exclaimed:

"That you, Lizzie! why are you here so late? Still at work; I hope that
Mrs. Davis is not too exacting!"

"No, sir," I answered. "Mrs. Davis was very anxious to have this gown
finished to-night, and I volunteered to remain and complete it."

"Well, well, the case must be urgent," and he came slowly towards me,
took the gown in his hand, and asked the color of the silk, as he said
the gas-light was so deceptive to his old eyes.

"It is a drab changeable silk, Mr. Davis," I answered; and might have
added that it was rich and handsome, but did not, well knowing that he
would make the discovery in the morning.

He smiled curiously, but turned and walked from the room without another
question. He inferred that the gown was for him, that it was to be the
Christmas present from his wife, and he did not wish to destroy the
pleasure that she would experience in believing that the gift would
prove a surprise. In this respect, as in many others, he always appeared
to me as a thoughtful, considerate man in the domestic circle. As the
clock struck twelve I finished the gown, little dreaming of the future
that was before it. It was worn, I have not the shadow of a doubt, by
Mr. Davis during the stormy years that he was the President of the
Confederate States.

The holidays passed, and before the close of January the war was
discussed in Mr. Davis's family as an event certain to happen in the
future. Mrs. Davis was warmly attached to Washington, and I often heard
her say that she disliked the idea of breaking up old associations, and
going South to suffer from trouble and deprivation. One day, while
discussing the question in my presence with one of her intimate
friends, she exclaimed: "I would rather remain in Washington and be
kicked about, than go South and be Mrs. President." Her friend expressed
surprise at the remark, and Mrs. Davis insisted that the opinion was an
honest one.

While dressing her one day, she said to me: "Lizzie, you are so very
handy that I should like to take you South with me."

"When do you go South, Mrs. Davis?" I inquired.

"Oh, I cannot tell just now, but it will be soon. You know there is
going to be war, Lizzie?"

"No!"

"But I tell you yes."

"Who will go to war?" I asked.

"The North and South," was her ready reply. "The Southern people will
not submit to the humil