d says, "I'm afraid not. You see I ain't got any money. I
just got this heah land." We assure him that we don't want any money and
will be only too happy to send some pictures of the baby if our
photograph turns out well. But he is still dubious and troubled, and the
baby's brother says, "The baby's mother ain't heah; we dursent do it
when she ain't heah." Evidently they think that we mean to involve them
in some financial obligation or to cast some sort of spell over little
black baby, contentedly sucking her thumb. I don't like to be beaten,
but we cannot stay to convince them that they are mistaken, so we say
"Good-bye," and drive away. From time to time we pass patches of
tobacco, very green and thrifty looking; but there is much uncleared
land and there are long stretches of lonely country.

We reach Richmond at six o'clock and are so fortunate as to have the
address of a charming boarding house on Franklin Street. Richmond has
some excellent hotels; and she also has some very attractive pensions.
"Where do you come from?" asks our hospitable hostess, as she shows us
to our big, comfortable room. "From California," I respond, and create
quite a sensation.

Richmond is worthy of a longer stay than we can possibly make this time.
But we drive for a morning and enjoy all that we can of the old city. We
go up to Monument Hill and have the fine view from there, looking down
on the winding James and on the green fields of Chesterfield County and
Manchester beyond. We drive out to the National Cemetery where 6573
Union soldiers sleep, 5678 of them unknown. We go to Church Hill and see
old St. John's Church, where Patrick Henry's pew in which he made his
famous speech is marked with a brass plate and an inscription. We drive
to the other end of the city and see the new part of Richmond with its
wide streets and fine equestrian statues of General Lee and General
Stuart. The old houses of the town, built of red brick and adorned with
white porches, with pink crape myrtle blooming luxuriantly in their door
yards, are particularly attractive to us.

But we must leave the old city and drive on fifty miles to Williamsburg.
The road is sandy and somewhat muddy in shady spots, under the heavy
forest foliage. Nine miles out from Richmond we pass through the village
of Seven Pines, the region of the bloody battle of Seven Pines. All
about are extensive forests of pine; and on the left, after we pass
through the village, is a Natio