Another day for reverie is such a day as this—a summer Sabbath in the country. Sabbath is stamped on the entire premises. The negroes, bedecked in all the finery of ribbons and beads, have just trooped in long droves through the gate and gone to preaching. Down at the quarters there is one old negro sitting at the door of her cabin, with her head bowed down to her knees as she ties around it her broad yellow kerchief. Her slight motion as she does this, and the faint monotonous wail of an infant left in her care, are all the evidences of life in the long row of tenements.
The horses and mules all walk solemnly about in the clover lot, and the sheep graze under the trees in the orchard, without a bleat to disturb the serene quiet of the morning. Tiger, the great bull-dog, is lying stretched out at the door of his kennel, watching with his small bleared eyes a hen and brood that are scratching fearlessly almost in his jaws. A mocking bird, down at the old graveyard, is alone forgetful of the day, and, perched upon the very topmost bough of the willow, is burdening the air with the joyous trills of his melody.
Overhead the great blue ocean of the sky is dotted here and there with fantastic white clouds, melting into various shapes as they grandly sail across its depths.
Propping my head with my hand, I lay and gazed up at the sky and around at the beauty of the day, and gave myself up to musing. Of course my mind turned to Lulie, and the terrible blight she had given my hopes, and, as the romance of my youthful mind intensified a thousand fold the nature of my disappointment, and my feelings were already made tender by the influences of the day, my heart could only find relief in tears, and turning my face over in the long cool grass I wept till I fell asleep. I had lain thus perhaps an hour, when a little bird, hopping in the branches overhead, rained down a shower of cedar balls upon me, and I raised up to find Carlotta standing by me. She started as I looked up, and said, without any embarrassment:
“I came out to the porch a few moments since, and saw you lying so still I was afraid you might be sick. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, thanks for your kindness, I do not need anything at all,” I replied, raising myself from the grass; “but sit down here with me, I want to talk with you.”
She hesitated a moment, then sat down near me.
“Day before yesterday, when you and mother were talking together in the hall, you thought me asleep,” I said, after a pause of some seconds—a pause that is always awkward when you are expected to say something, and do not know what to say—”but I was not, and am now glad that I heard every word you both said.”
Her face burned for a second, then became paler than before, as she exclaimed: