Cherokee steps.
Cherokee, November 11.
Got down to the plantation early, expecting to send Gibbie out with the ox wagon to move the heavy things. Found he had sent a message to say he was sick—a sad state of things, hands digging potatoes and no one to plough down the beds. I went to see Gibbie to see if he were really sick or only resting after his month's night hunting.
I found him ill. I fear pneumonia. He is not strong enough for all that exposure at night. I refrained from saying "I told you so," but spoke very sympathizingly to him. His poor breath was so short; almost a pant.
I prescribed for him until we could get a doctor and had his wife lay a square of bacon skin sprinkled with turpentine over the side where the pain was. Then I sent for Green and told him he must take charge of the stable and cows until his brother should be out again, that I would let it go on his debt. He was very civil and said he would do his best, which was a great comfort. It has been a perfect day—bright, crisp, cool—and now that the effort is over it is delightful to be back in the large, pretty rooms of the Cherokee house, with everything pleasing to the eye within and without, and I feel very grateful to the Good Father. This is my mother's birthday and I would have liked to lay some flowers on her resting-place, but it was not possible, so I will go to-morrow.
Sunday, November 12.
Started very early and drove to Gregory with a great basket of beautiful roses. Was in time to attend service in the old church of Prince George—then I drove in to Woodstock and dined with my brother and was beguiled by the beautiful afternoon to stay rather late for my long drive alone.
The key to my front gate at Cherokee had been misplaced, and so I had to drive through the barn-yard way, which made it necessary to open four gates. It was quite dark by the time I reached the house and I was surprised to find it shut up and without a light. I tied Romola and went all around to try each door, but in vain; there was no one, and I concluded that Chloe had supposed I would spend the night at Woodstock and had gone in the woods to visit her sister.
Romola was weary and reluctant to start out again, but I determined the only thing to do was to go out to Bonaparte's house in the "street" and get him to come and break open a window for me to get in. I found it very hard to open all the gates again, but I got to the street safely and there I found Chloe. She said she had gone after Rab, who had stayed out late playing with the children, and she was afraid to stay alone at the yard, having just heard of little old Grace's death, my former cook, whom I was expecting to come back.
November 14.