to the
observers of delicate things.

But while Mrs. Thorne surveyed her slippers, her daughter was replying:
"It would hardly amuse you to go over the place, Mr. Winthrop; there is
really nothing to see but the crane."

"Let us go, then, and see the crane."

"Mamma would be so delighted, you know. But she never walks."

"Not far," corrected Mrs. Thorne. "I am not strong, not able to walk
far."

"And I should be delighted, too," continued Garda, "only I am so sleepy.
I have fallen into the habit of spending my afternoons in the hammock;
that makes me immensely drowsy just at this hour."

"I feel like an interloper," said Winthrop; "say a large mosquito."

"You needn't. It's not well to sleep so much," replied Miss Thorne,
calmly.

"Certainly you know how to console. Is that the hammock in which you
pass your happy existence?"

"Not existence; only afternoons. You really wish to go?" she added,
seeing that he had taken his hat from the chair beside him. "We will
send Raquel with you, then, as guide."

"Raquel?"

"Haven't you noticed her? She lets you in when you come. She is an
important personage with us, I assure you; her mother, grandmother, and
great-grandmother lived on the place here before her."

Winthrop recalled the portly jet-black negress who, in answer to his
knock, had opened the lower door.

"Three generations make aristocracy in America," he replied; "I am
afraid of so distinguished a guide. If doomed to go without Mrs. Thorne
or yourself, why may I not go alone?"

"You would never find the magnolias, you would come into the live-oak
avenue at the wrong end, you would look at the ruin from its commonplace
side, you would see only the back of the Cherokee roses, the crane would
not dance for you, the wild cattle would run at you, and you would
inevitably get into the swamp," answered the girl, checking off the
items one by one on her pretty fingers.

"I have confessed my fear of Raquel, and now you display before me this
terrible list of dangers. Don't you think it would be but common charity
to come with me yourself? My conversation is not exciting; you could
easily sleep a little, between-times, as we walk."

"I believe you have had your own way all your life," remarked Garda, "or
you would never persist as you do. Your humility is nothing but a
manner; in reality you expect everything to be done for you by
everybody."

"Not by everybody," Winthrop responded.

Mrs. Thorne had coug