.

As she scrambled up the high house steps, which went rented-fashion in
Fairville, from the ground to the second story, she remembered the
black splotch it had made on his white shirt; and then she remembered
another thing--the chain one underneath, to keep away rocks and
bullets and everything. Ah, if he hadn't worn that she might have
killed him; and then all the trouble in dear South Carolina would be
over forever and ever, amen.

As she sat in her high-chair at supper, eating hot raised corn-bread
and sugar-sweet sorghum, it seemed a dreadful thing that she hadn't
really done it; and directly, when a blue-eyed, full-breasted goddess,
known in the hired house as Ma and Miss Kate, looked meaningly across
the table, she sighed profoundly.

The fair lady, whose beauty was clouded by a deep sadness, turned soon
to the third sitter at the table, a tall, lank gentleman of perhaps
thirty-five, who, with dark, brooding eyes and a serious limp, had
just entered. He was the redoubtable Uncle John, of loud and fearless
opinion; and, if the bar-room bowie had missed him, a stray Radical
bullet had been more successful. A political fight in the railroad
turn-table, some months ago, had been the scene of this heartbreaking
accident. "And all through the war without a scratch!" Ma had sobbed
out to Mrs. Preston when speaking of that bullet, still in the
long-booted leg now under the table.

Directly Hope Carolina forgot the reproof of mother eyes anent the
table manners of well-brought-up children. She began listening
attentively; for that was how, listening when Ma and Uncle John
talked, she had acquired all her deep knowledge of men and things. For
in this close domestic circle all the lurid happenings of the times
were touched upon: more fights in the turn-table; barbecues, black
enemy barbecues--at which the bad Radical Judge stood on stumps, with
his blacked shoes Close together and his beaver hat off, as if he were
talking, _truly_, to white people; where negroes, poor, pitiful,
hungry, corn-field negroes, were bought with scorched beef and bad
whisky to vote any which way. Even the price of bacon, the woeful
rises in the corn-meal market, were discussed here--all the poignant
things, indeed, which, as has been seen, had inspired Hope Carolina's
own poignant and beautiful name.

Now they were speaking of Double-headed Pete, sweet, sorry Ma and good
Uncle John, who must limp forever because he hadn't worn chain things