A Woman Rice Planter

by Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

April 16.

Left home at 11:30, drove to Woodstock for luncheon with my brother and then on to the station. There the two charming little travelling mates I am to have met me. Son is 4½ and Sister 2½. Their fair hair, lovely brown eyes, and piquant little retroussé noses were a joy to watch. Everything interested them; nothing escaped them. Their father went with us as far as Lanes, where we changed cars and took the sleeper.

I thought this would cause a breakdown and tears when he left them, but there was none. He had provided them with a liberal supply of bananas and candy, which rather alarmed me, but occupied their full attention, and with the wonders of the transforming of the seats into accommodations for the night there was no space for homesickness or sadness. When I proposed bed they were eagerly acquiescent, and Son was most efficient in producing all that was necessary from the tightly packed valise.

The greatest problem was to get off Sister's little dress. The dear mother wishing to save me trouble had made the little travelling frock of a pattern which called for no buttons; it was simply slipped over the head, but it was so close a fit that it seemed to me if I pulled it rashly off, Sister's dear little tip tilted nose would go with it. Son at last said: "Now, Sister, don't cry; I just have to give it a jerk over your nose; it will hurt some, but not too much."

So Sister braced herself to stand the jerk and off it came, leaving her little pansy face unhurt but very rosy. I tucked them into the lower berth, opposite mine, and after a few suppressed ripples of laughter have not heard a sound from them.

April 17.

We reached Washington on time. The dear little children slept like tops all night. I woke them at 7. Son again proved himself a most accomplished nurse-maid, and Sister emerged from the train looking very dainty and fresh. Son insisted on struggling to carry their heavy valise, but was finally persuaded to let the porter take it with mine out to the gate, where my dear sister was waiting, and the children uttered a cry of delight as they recognized their beautiful aunt with her husband, their unknown uncle, who had come over from Philadelphia to meet them. We parted company here, and I could truthfully say they had not given me the smallest trouble, but on the contrary, had been a genuine pleasure.

The Camps, June 11.

I left Carrollton on the 4 p.m. train. En route anxiety came to me as to whether I had given my letter, telling when I would reach Gregory, time enough to precede me. As I neared my destination I felt more and more sure that I had not. If I had mailed it myself it might have arrived, but I gave it to the children who were playing in the garden and asked them to drop it in the box. A child's hand is almost as dangerous a place for a letter as a man's pocket, and I had an inward conviction there would be no one to meet me at the train.

I asked the negro porter to look out and see if the phaeton was there to meet me when we arrived at 10 p.m. He came back and told me he did not see it. Then I asked him to engage a hack to take me out the three miles to this pineland, where I was to spend the night and make a little visit to C. By the time he had made sure there was no one to meet me and reported this to me, every vehicle had gone except a huge omnibus with a large pair of mules driven by a small darky who looked about 10. He was eager to undertake to get me out to the Camps for a small sum.