"Dat I is. You see he los' his wife two mont' ago. Dese here quilts is hern. She made 'em."
"Dear me," I said, "I'm so sorry!"
But Charity had broken down and was sobbing with her head against the mantel.
"Yas'm! I cert'nly is lonesum! She jes up an' die, an', an' de po' little baby daid too."
As I lay in bed I thought of the dear dead woman. I resolved to be nothing but a comfort to Charity and that little Quaker. I made plans for the happiness of both. With my heart full of sympathy, full of gratitude, full of hope, I slept sweetly and long.
In the morning a message sent from the post-office through an inquirer from the camp brought me my General; brought, too, an invitation from my host to make this house his headquarters, and during the day he moved over bag and baggage. A cook was detailed from the camp, we were to furnish our own table; and our kind host looked so deeply wounded when we offered rent for our lodgings, that no more was said on that subject. I had brought nothing with me except the plain contents of my camp chest. The thick white china of the table was unattractive, and I consulted Charity about the possibility of buying something better. Our only market-town, Suffolk, was in the hands of the enemy.
"He's got painted cups an' saucers, but I dunno's he'll s'render 'em," said Charity.
"Suppose you ask him!"
"I dun try 'im once. I ax 'im dat time when his mother-in-law cum to see 'im—an' he nuvver say nuthin! Den I let 'im rip!"
But after a few days "he" threw in my lap a bunch of keys, saying simply, "Everything in the house and on the plantation belongs to thee." Some of them were enormous, like the key of the Bastile, and all were rusted. I selected a small one, returning the rest, and in Charity's presence unlocked the old mahogany sideboard and counted to her the cups, saucers, and plates, gilt-edged, and decorated with a rosebud here and there.