nial ghosts when they stumble in
the dark over great claw feet, cold even as their own; the feet of
monstrous hollow things, white and awesome as themselves--the things
that moderns call bathtubs!

Over in the kitchen, unfortunately for the picturesque, all has to be
modern. There the eighteenth century furnishing breaks down altogether.
Not from the glowing heart of the old chimney-place, but from a huge,
homely range comes the gastronomic hospitality of present-day Westover.

No devotion to the eighteenth century can bring the colonial kitchen
back again; send the roaring blaze up the wide chimney; swing the crane
with the great kettle into the glow; and rebuild the quaint row of
skillet and gridiron and broiler, perched on their little legs over the
hot embers of the old hearthstone.

Westover has an interesting reminder of the colonial in a copy of an
old survey of the plantation that we saw that day. Our eyes quickly
caught the suggestive name given on the map to the low, sandy point at
the mouth of Herring Creek, where we had left our shore-boat to wait
for us. We had not known that it was a place of such associations as
the words "Ducking-stool Point" indicated.

Upon first landing there, we had been impressed with the unusual depth
of water just off that point; but we had not suspected how, in colonial
tunes, many a too-talkative woman had also been impressed with it. It
was the law, made and provided, that a ducking-stool should be set up
"neere the court-house in every county." So, doubtless, in accordance
with that law, a long pole used to reach out from our sandy point,
having a seat on the end of it, right over the deep water. And, also in
accordance with law, the end of the pole sometimes went down into the
water, and a shivering woman went with it. But what would you, when
"brabbling women slander and scandalize their neighbours, for which
their poore husbands are often brought into chargeable and vexatious
suits and cast in great damages"?

The survey showed, also, where Westover Church stood in colonial days.
Near the river a little way above the house, stood not only the church
but a court-house and a brewing-house, all in sociable and suggestive
proximity. We walked up the river bank to visit the spot.

[Illustration: TOMBS IN THE OLD WESTOVER CHURCHYARD. (In the foreground
is the tomb of Evelyn Byrd.)]

It is still marked by a few gravestones that remain in the deserted
churchyard. Among thes