September 18.
Yesterday I gave Gibbie a severe talk because of his total neglect of his work—the stables not cleaned, no pine straw hauled for bedding, the calves starved, yet the cows only half milked. I would not mind losing the milk so much if only the calves got it, but they look miserable, especially Heart, the little Guernsey I so wish to raise.
He is intoxicated with the rice bird and coot fever and spends every night out hunting, and of course in the day he is too sleepy to do anything. He answered almost insolently for the first time, for usually he has the grace of civility.
September 22.
Went down after early dinner in great haste to peas field prepared to help pick out cockspurs, but found that Gertie and two other women had finished. I went over it prepared to find it only one-half done, as usual, but to my delight found it thoroughly done. They had two large barrels packed tightly with cockspurs, root and all, the burrs being still soft; and look over the field as carefully as I could I found not a single plant. I had the pleasure of praising them warmly. It was Gertie's doing, I know, as Bonaparte put her in charge.
Chloe returned to the subject of "sperets" to-night and would insist on going back to all the strange things that have happened in her experience. There is no doubt that Chloe would develop into a most successful medium if she was in the way of knowing anything about the present craze for spirit manifestation.
She called to my remembrance one very strange circumstance that took place the first year I was alone at Cherokee after my dear mother's death. It had been the habit of our household to have family prayers, and when I was left alone I determined to continue the evening prayers and for that purpose had Chloe come in at 10 o'clock.
It was curious how reluctant she was to have me act as home chaplain. She evidently did not consider me equal to the situation. However, I made a point of it and she graciously came.
After prayers were ended she would stand at the door looking very dignified in her white head handkerchief and white apron and talk over the events of the day, the condition of the poultry yard and the evil deeds of the generality of mankind. This little chance to tell her trials and tribulations was greatly enjoyed by her, and I tried not to be impatient at the wealth of detail, and impossibility of getting back to my book, for I knew that alone made her consent to come in to the little service which meant so much to me as a survival of the past.
One particular evening when she was in full swing I was sitting in one arm-chair by the fire, the other being empty, and on the rug stretched off in front of the fire asleep lay a very handsome Skye terrier which had been recently given to me as a protection, my dear little old black and tan Zero having died that summer. Suddenly Blue Boy woke, rose, every hair on end. He growled, he sniffed, he snorted, and then made a dash at the empty chair, barking furiously.