The snowy cloth spread upon the table in the middle of the floor, was set about with crockery almost antique,—the gift of “old Missus’” when she “broke up,” because the great plantation was sold for taxes.

During the war the Confederate and Union armies had swept over the region in alternation, like swarms of locusts, taking every marketable thing; Abraham Lincoln’s Proclamation of Emancipation had freed every “hand,” and, as the old lady had lost all her sons in the war, and all her means to hire laborers, and would not lease to niggers, she folded her hands and let her remaining possessions drift from her, and finally died a pensioner upon her friends.

Many a time had Aunt Phoebe’s childish hands washed these same cups and plates, while her mother cooked for “the great house;” and as she now brought an extra large plate, she paused, and with eyes fixed upon it, a long stretch of years seemed to pass before her.

“Make hay while the sun shines,” she spelled around the sunny picture of hay-makers in the centre of the plate; and before her seemed to arise the placid face of her poor mother; and again she heard her say,—“Dat’s ’de way ’dey do at ‘de North, chile’. ’Taint ’de colored folks as does all ’de work dar’. Oh Lord! oh Lord!” I was ’mos’ free——thought I was free shor’ ’dat time Missus tuck me ’not’h wid’ her. Mighty nice gem’men tole’ me I war free;—I needn’t go back South no ’mo’. So I jes walks off: but, oh laws! He didn’t know ’nuffin ’bout ’dem United States Marshal ’dey call ’em, I ’reckon; but may be ’dey didn’t ’blong to no United States, nohow. Spex’ ’dey come from South Caroline. ’Dey tole’ I ’jes got go ’long back wid Missus, or ’de whole ’dem United States ’sogers’d he afe’r me, shor; Wal, Wal, ’pears like ’day didn’t none of ’em know nohow; fo’ nother gem’men said ’dem United States Marshals hadn’t got ’nuffin to do wid me, nohow, ’cause Missus’ brung me ’long herself. I didn’t run away ’nohow, ’cause I neber was so low as a runaway nigger. ’Pears like I didn’t know who ’t believe, an so I came back ’long wid’ Missus to make shor’.

“Po’re ole’ Lize, she lived nex’ do’ to Missus’ hotel. She used to set by ’de pump in ’de back yard, evenings, and smoke and smoke. “Dar was a young miss ’dar, used to come too, ’an talk ’wid us, ’an she tole’ Lize war free, and I war’ free, ’cause we didn’t runned away from ’de South. ’Reckon she war right, now; but I didn’t know, an’ she war’ young.” Lize was ole an’ been sick aheap, an’ wan’t ’woth much. She was ’gwoine to be sold in St. Loo, an’ all her chillun,—five chillun. ’Dey sold right smart, but no body didn’t want Lize; but a bad man said he’d give twenty dollah.”

“Lize seen a mighty nice gem’man from de No’th da, an’ she got hold his feet, an’ roared an’ cried till he bought her.

“Wal, ’pears like he didn’t know what t’do wid her af’r all; hadn’t got no wife, no nothin’ but lots o’ money. Well, shoo’ ’nuff’ dat bery night he tuck mighty sick. Ole Lize nussed ’im night and day, six, eight weeks or mo’, till he got well, Doctah said ’Dar’s de ole creatur dat save yo’ life. It wa’nt me, nohow.’ Wal, Mars’ Sam war mighty good den to ole Lize. He tuck ’er off No’th, and spex cause he hadn’t got nothin’ nor no place, he coaxed ’er to stay wid ’is sistah. But, laws! she wa’n’t like he. She’s cross, an’ scold ole Lize a heap, when she’s crying ’bout her boys jes’ been sole ’way down t’ New Orleans, ’cause dey war so high spirited like, an’ Lize wa’n’t dar to keep ’im quiet like. Lize wanted t’ go back to St. Loo, an’ see ’er girls. Cross woman! She tole ole Lize all dat to make ’er fret; an’ Mars Sam ’ad writ dat, dat war why he didn’t wan’r Lize to come back, cause he didn’t want ’er to fret. Poor soul! couldn’t write to Mars’ Sam.

“Laws, I’s young an’ spry den, an’ wanted to be free powerful bad; but de Laud he say, I mus’ stay right yere, an’ cook for Missus, a slave all my life, maybe.” Fresh and clear as when first spoken, Aunt Phebe seemed to hear these tales which once impressed her youthful mind.

And then right between the hay-makers and Auntie’s eyes there came another picture. She could see the great smoke rolling up over the woods beyond the cotton field, and hear the cannon’s roar, and the shells screeching and crashing through the trees, and see “old Missus” wringing her hands and weeping, and praying the good Lord to spare her four sons who were fighting in the confederate ranks; and all the slaves were praying for the “Yankees,” while they exhausted every means to soothe and comfort “old missus.”

That same night, when the house servants were all in her cabin except Lucy, who was “staying wid Missus,” Uncle Tim, the plantation preacher, was repeating what scripture passages he could remember, there came a loud rap on the closed door behind.