The roof of the house on Pawleys Island—from the sand-hills.
In the afternoon I drove with Mr. G. up to the negro mission at Brook Green, nine miles. It is a pretty, churchly little chapel. He asked me to play the very nice organ. The vested choir of colored girls had already put up the hymns "I Need Thee Every Hour," "Crown Him With Many Crowns," and "Sun of My Soul." They sang very well, showing Mrs. W.'s careful training, and the service was very pleasant.
Visited the recluse for a few moments—a striking and interesting figure—then the homeward drive through the thick woods. Altogether it has been a perfect day.
July 11.
My time is up on this delightful beach and I started home, driven as far as the river by my kind host and hostess. Found the Whiting with Aaron and Goliah waiting for me. It was very, very hot. I steered at first, but could not hold up my umbrella and steer, and as Aaron said he had taught Goliah on the way home I changed my seat and turned over the ropes to him. He did beautifully. The river was like glass, a great contrast to the trip over, but the creek called Squirrel Creek through which we go is so winding, with such sharp turns, that I did not suppose Goliah could get us through without striking the shore once, but he did, and I was much pleased.
After the hour and a half row I looked over the corn, cotton, etc., at Cherokee and then drove rapidly to Peaceville, I was so hot and tired. As I got out of the buckboard I saw my precious little dog lying under a tree very ill.
As I called his name he tried to jump up, but could not stand and fell over on his side. I was terribly upset. I had a tub brought and poured bucket after bucket of cool water fresh from the well over him, then rubbed him dry and gave him three tablespoonfuls of olive oil. Then before going to bed six hours later I gave him a dose of castor oil in hot milk. I feel very little hope of his recovery and am very sad.
July 12.