ther in alarm came back to find her. They decided between
them to fill a pillow case with little things they would certainly need.

There was a lull in the shelling. Jennie's maids rushed back in terror
at being left alone.

The guns again opened with redoubled fury. Still bent on saving
something Jennie grabbed two soiled underskirts and an old cloak and
once more dragged her grandmother to the door.

* * * * *

Five big shells sailed squarely over the house at the same moment. They
seemed to swing in circles, spiral-shaped like corkscrews. The dull whiz
and swish of their flight made the most blood-curdling unearthly noise.
Her grandmother fumbled at the door trying to turn the bolt of the
unused lock.

"Don't fool with that door, grandma!" Jennie cried--"run--run--you'll be
killed."

"I won't run!" the old lady said with firm decision. "I'll go down there
and tell those cowards what I think of their firing on women and
children--"

A big shell whizzed past the house and grandma jumped behind a pillar.
She was painfully deaf to human speech--but the whiz of that shell found
her nerves. They ran now without looking back--ran at least for a
hundred yards until the poor old lady could run no more and then walked
as rapidly as possible.

They were at last on the main country road, leading out of town.
Hurrying terror-stricken people, young, old, black and white, were
passing them every moment now.

A mile and a half out her grandmother broke down completely. A gentleman
passing in a buggy took pity on her gray hairs and lifted her to the
seat by his side while his own little ones crouched at her feet.

Jennie waved her hand as they drove off:

"I'll find you somewhere, grandma dear--don't worry!"

Another mile she trudged with Mandy and Lucy clinging to her skirts and
then sat down to rest. Her nerves were slowly recovering their poise and
she began to laugh at the funny sights the terror-stricken people
presented at every turn.

A cart approached piled high with household goods.

"Let's ride, Mandy!" Jennie cried.

"Yassam, dat's what I says, too," the little black maid eagerly agreed.

The cart belonged to a neighbor. It was driven by an old negro man.

"Let us ride, uncle!" Jennie called.

The old man pulled his reins quickly and laughed good-naturedly.

"Dat you shall, Honey. De name er Gawd, ter see Miss Jennie Barton
settin' here in dis dirty road!"

He helped them cl