ray of the wild-orange hedge, vied with
each other in imitating the medley of bird-language which made the air
vocal on every side, pouring a rich flood of melody through the open
windows and into the appreciative ears of the ladies who sat within.

"What a lovely day!" exclaimed the elder of the two as she dropped her
piece of embroidery and rose to look out upon the scene.

"Oh, how I wish we could take a long ride! Here have I been staying at
Oaklands three whole weeks, and I have not been in the saddle once! I
declare, Jane, this horrid war will never be over;" and Rebecca Stead
drew a long sigh and leaned her pretty head thoughtfully against the
sash.

"Well, suppose we ride over to The Willows?" answered Jane Elliott
with a ringing laugh. "If you'll take the old broken-winded mare, I'll
take one of the plough-mules, and Billy can go with us on the other.
Wouldn't it be fun?"

In response to the bell, Billy soon made his appearance--an elderly
negro of most respectable appearance, dressed in a blue cloth coat
with large brass buttons, a red plush waistcoat with flaps nearly
reaching his knees, and a pair of yellow breeches with plated
knee-buckles and coarse blue worsted stockings. A single glance at his
face and bearing was enough to show his sense of importance and his
keen appreciation of the responsibility of his position. He listened
with a look of utter amazement to the orders of his young mistress,
and then replied in a tone of stern authority, such as none but an old
family negro servant could assume: "Miss Jane, dat mule nebber had no
saddle 'pon he back sence he been born."

"Well, Billy, it's high time he should know how it feels."

"He wi' kick you' brains out 'fore you git on um, an' broke you' neck
'fore you kin git from here to de gate."

"Oh nonsense, Billy! Have the saddle put on him at once, and get the
old mare for Miss Rebecca."

"Miss 'Becca can't ride de ole mare tid-day, 'cause she 'way down
in de pasture, an' anybody can't ketch um in tree hour time; an' you
can't ride de mule, Miss Jane, 'cause you ma done tell me I must tek
good care o' you an' de house w'ile she gone, an' I ain't gwine let
you broke you' neck or you' arm--not tid-day." And Billy quietly
walked out and closed the door, leaving the young ladies half vexed
and half amused at his summary disposal of their scheme.

"After Tarleton's troop and that horrid Tory Ball took my saddle-pony
out of the pasture," said Miss E