removed from the house, had escaped the flames. Maum Winnie's was
larger and better furnished than any, and far more attractive in
appearance. A rustic fence, built by her old husband, "Uncle Abe"
(long since dead), enclosed a small yard, where grew all kinds of
bright, gaudy "posies," with here and there a bunch of mint or parsley
or sage, and an occasional stalk or two of cabbage. Over the little
porch were trained morning-glories and a flourishing gourd vine.
Beneath, on each side, ran a wide seat, where, in the shade, Maum
Winnie used to sit with her knitting, or nodding over the big Bible
which on Sunday evening she always pretended to read. The neat fence
was now broken down, the bright flowers all trampled and crushed by
the feet of men and horses. Inside also, the once spotless floor was
muddy and stained with tobacco, all the old woman's treasures being
broken and scattered. Amid all this confusion, in the little front
room, once the pride of Winnie's heart, was carefully placed almost
the only thing saved from the burning, an easy-chair, cushioned upon
the back and sides, and covered with old-fashioned chintz. How the
faithful soul had managed to get it there no one could have told, but
there it stood, and Winnie said, "Dat ar wos ole mistes' cheer, and
she sot in it plum twill she die. Ole Winnie couldn't stan' an' see
_dat_ burn, nohow." Upon the little porch sat Nelly and her mamma on
the morning after the fire, worn out with excitement, and feeling
utterly forlorn. Soon Winnie appeared, bearing upon a gay red tray two
steaming cups of coffee. Mrs. Grey took only a sip or two, then
setting the cup upon the bench at her side, she grasped the arm of her
old servant, and, leaning her head upon the faithful breast, began to
sob and moan piteously. Nelly at this also cried bitterly. Tears
streamed down Winnie's fat black cheeks. But the faithful negro tried
to soothe and comfort her mistress, patting her shoulders as if she
had been a baby, saying, "Dah! Dah! honey, don't take it so haad. Try
to truss in de Lawd. He dun promus, an' he aint gwine back on nobody.
I's dun sperience _dat_."

At last, won by Nelly's caresses and Maum Winnie's coaxing, the weary
lady consented to take some repose in "ole missis' cheer," where,
leaning her aching head upon the cushioned side, she fell asleep.

Nelly greatly enjoyed the strong coffee (which she never before had
been allowed to drink). It made her feel very wide awake.