he has. Onct she wuz de fastest
horse in dis State or any odder, I reckon. She could clean beat ebbery
horse far and near. Many's de race I'se ridden her in, an' nebber onct
lost. My ole massa wuz powerful proud of us. Now he's gone, an' Dolly
an' me's gettin' old."

"How old are you, January?"

"Powerful ole, massa. I reckon I'm nigh on a hundred."

"That's impossible," interrupted Mrs. Davenport. "When were you born?"

He scratched his head to help his memory. "Well, de truf is, Miss
Mary"--he had heard Mr. Davenport call her Mary, and so from the start
he addressed her in Southern style--"I can't say 'xactly, but I know
I'se powerful old. I wuz an ole man when de wah broke out. I must
have been 'bout--well 'bout twenty then."

"The war was only about forty years ago, January," broke in Marian,
"and that would make you sixty now."

"I reckon, I'm 'bout dat." He had no idea of his age. The longer the
Davenports knew him, the more they realized the truth of this.
Sometimes he would make himself out a centenarian, and then, by his own
reckoning, he was not out of his teens.

"Get up, Dolly," he cried. She paid no more attention to this mild
command than she would have to the buzzing of a fly--probably not so
much.

"Papa, may I drive?" asked Marian in her quiet way. Receiving consent,
she took the reins. Dolly soon noticed a difference in drivers.
Presently she went so fast, that she satisfied even Beth as to speed.

"Look at the river," cried Beth. They were driving under great,
over-arching trees. To the right of them, between the openings of the
trees, the glorious St. Johns was to be seen gleaming under the
brilliant tropical sun.

"That's a beautiful hammock yonder," said Mr. Davenport.

Beth could see no hammock. There was a wonderful, intricate growth of
shrubs, trees, and vines which formed an almost impenetrable mass of
green, but no hammock.

"Where is it?" she asked. "It seems a very queer place for a hammock."

Mr. Davenport laughed at her, and explained that such a mass of green
is called a hammock in Florida, not hummock as in the North.

Very soon they were past the swamps. The banks of the river grew
higher and nice houses were to be seen on either side of the road.

Dolly, of her own accord, turned in at the gate of an unusually
beautiful place. There are no fine lawns in Florida. In this case,
the lack of such green was made up by a waving mass of blooming
cardin