etted that her husband should fail to recall, and had neglected
to inquire, the name of this interesting person; but the knowledge that
he was _there_, and others besides him, ameliorated the rigor of the
situation.

Mrs. Smith did not care for the south or southern people; their
thoughts were not her thoughts, nor their ways, her ways. In her
ignorance, she classed them low in the scale of civilization, deeming
them an unprofitable race, whose days were given over to sloth, and
their nights to armed and malignant prowling. For the colored people
of the censured states, she had a profound and far-off sympathy,
viewing them from an unreal and romantic standpoint. This tender
attitude was mental; physically she shrank from them with disgust, and
it was not the least of the crosses entailed by a residence in the
south that she would be obliged to endure colored servants.

But all this was trifling and unimportant in comparison with the main
issue, Warner's health. To secure the shadow of hope for her boy, Mrs.
Smith decided that any thing short of cannibalism in her future
surroundings would be endurable.

The information gleaned from her husband was faithfully repeated by
Mrs. Smith to her daughters, with some innocent exaggeration and
unconscious embellishment. She always wanted to make things pleasant
for the children.

Blanche looked up from her crewel sun-flowers with reviving interest,
but Norma walked over to the window, and stood drumming on the panes,
and regarding the passers with a lowering brow.

"I wonder what Nesbit Thorne will think of it all?" she remarked, after
an interval of silence, giving voice to the inwardness of her
discontent.

"He'll _hate_ it!" spoke Blanche, with conviction; "he'll abhor it,
just as we do. I know he will." Blanche always followed her sister's
lead, and when Norma was cross considered it her duty to be tearful.
She was only disagreeable now because Norma was.

Percival, the youngest of the family, a spoiled and lively lad of
twelve, to whom the prospect of change was rapture, took up the last
remark indignantly.

"Nesbit won't do anything of the kind," quoth he. "Nesbit isn't a
spoiled, airified idiot of a girl. He's got sense enough to appreciate
hunting and fishing and the things that are of importance to _men_. I
guess he'll want to come to Shirley this autumn for his shooting,
instead of going down to North Carolina." Norma stopped her tattoo and
turned