"Massa Cameron, sah," explained Aunt Chloe, coming up; "he always tole my chile call him dat."
"Well, she needn't do so any more. I don't like it. Do you hear?" to Elsie, "don't call that man uncle again. He was no relation whatever to you."
His tone spoke displeasure, and the little one drew back to the shelter of her mammy's arms, with a frightened look, her lip trembling, her soft, brown eyes full of tears.
"There, there!" he said, more gently, "don't cry; I'm not angry with you; you knew no better."
He rose and wandered away toward the rear of the mansion, and Mildred drew Elsie to a seat upon her lap, caressing her tenderly.
"Sweet little girlie," she said, "cousin loves you dearly, already, and cannot bear to see tears in those eyes. Tell me about your sweet, pretty mamma."
"Here she is, cousin. Don't you love her too?" prattled the babe, drawing forth the miniature from her bosom, and quickly forgetting her momentary grief in displaying it. "She's gone up to heaven to stay wis Jesus, and some day he'll take Elsie there too."
"Mildred," said Mr. Dinsmore, coming back, "I hear there are fine saddle horses in the stables. If I order two of them brought round, will you ride over the plantation with me?"
"Gladly!" she said, putting the child gently down, and rising with alacrity. "I will go at once and don my riding habit. You shall tell me the rest another time, little pet."
Already enthusiastic admirers of Viamede, they returned from their ride doubly impressed with its beauties.