r I
should see him at church. I saw him before that, however; for it was
unaccountable what a fancy Carrie suddenly took for traversing the
woods and riding on horseback, for which purpose grandfather's
side-saddle (not the one with which Joe saddled his pony!) was
borrowed, and then, with her long curls and blue riding-skirt floating
in the wind, Carrie galloped over hills and through valleys,
accompanied by Penoyer, who was a fierce-looking fellow, with black
eyes, black hair, black whiskers, and black face.

I couldn't help fancying that the negro who lay beneath the walnut
tree had resembled him, and I cried for fear Carrie might marry so
ugly a man, thinking it would not be altogether unlike, "Beauty and
the Beast." Sally, our housemaid, said that "most likely he'd prove to
be some poor, mean scamp. Anyway, seein' it was plantin' time, he'd
better be _to hum_ tendin' to his own business, if he had any."

Sally was a shrewd, sharp-sighted girl, and already had her preference
in favor of Michael Welsh, father's hired man. Walking, riding on
horseback, and wasting time generally, Sally held in great abhorrence.
"All she wished to say to Mike on week days, she could tell him
milking time." On Sundays, however, it was different, and regularly
each Sunday night found Mike and Sally snugly ensconced in the "great
room," while under the windows occasionally might have been seen,
three or four curly heads, eager to hear something about which to
tease Sally during the week.

But to return to Monsieur Penoyer, as Carrie called him. His stay was
prolonged beyond the Sabbath, and on Tuesday I was sent to Captain
Howard's on an errand. I found Aunt Eunice in the kitchen, her round,
rosy face, always suggestive of seed cake and plum pudding, flushed
with exertion, her sleeves tucked up and her arms buried in a large
wooden bowl of dough, which she said was going to be made into loaves
of 'lection cake, as Carrie was to have a party to-morrow, and I had
come just in time to carry invitations to my sisters.

Carrie was in the parlor, and attracted by the sound of music, I drew
near the door, when Aunt Eunice kindly bade me enter. I did so, and
was presented to Monsieur Penoyer. At first I was shy of him, for I
remembered that Sally had said, "he don't know nothin'," and this in
my estimation was the worst crime of which he could be guilty.
Gradually my timidity gave way, and when, at Carrie's request, he
played and sang for me