It stands under the droopin’, graceful boughs of a group of palm-trees that rise about it, its low bamboo walls shinin’ out from the dark green screen of leaves.
An open veranda runs round it half shaded with gorgeous creepin’ vines glowin’ and odorous, more beautiful than our colder climate ever saw.
“FELIX, HIS WIFE AND LITTLE NED.”
Inside it is simple but neat. The bare floors have a few rugs spread upon them, a few pictures are on the walls. A round table stands spread in a small dinin’ room, with a snowy cloth woven of the flax of old Georgia upon it.
Round the table are grouped Felix, his wife and little Ned. In a cradle near by lies a baby boy born in the New Republic; his name is Victor, and he is the pet of Genieve, whose cottage, much like this, stands not fur away.
Through the open lattice Felix sits and looks out upon his fields. It is a small farm, but it yields him a bountiful support.
He and Hester have all they want to eat, drink, and wear, and their children are bein’ educated, and they are free.