drove, but Joe did
not seem much disposed to go. Every now and then he came to a
stand-still, and I quite wanted to get out and push him along. But they
saw nothing uncommon in his behavior, and even congratulated themselves
upon his being so careful. Aunt Henshaw said that such dreadful
accidents had happened in consequence of horses running away with
people, and that Joe's great virtue consisted in his being so perfectly
gentle.

We did not drive very far, and on our return found that Sylvia had tea
all ready and waiting for us. The old colored woman was quite tasty in
her ideas, and had garnished an immense dish of strawberries with
flowers and leaves, through which the red fruit gleamed most temptingly
forth. After tea, when Cousin Statia had taken up her knitting, and Aunt
Henshaw was seated in her usual chair, I placed a low stool beside her
for myself, and begged for one of her usual stories. She was a very
entertaining old lady, with a great deal of natural wit, and abundant
reminiscences of the times in which she had lived. Nothing delighted us
more than to hear her stories of the Revolution, in many of which she
figured as principal actor; and I now expected a rich treat.

"Well, I do not know," replied Aunt Henshaw in answer to my question, "I
think I must have told you all."

This remark, I knew from experience, was the prelude to something even
more interesting than usual, and I waited patiently for her to begin.

"Did I ever tell you," she continued, "of the time that Statia went to
her Uncle Ben's at night, with no one except her two little brothers?"

I had never heard the narrative, and eagerly settled myself in the
position of a listener.

"Statia," said her mother, "you had better tell the story--perhaps you
remember it better than I do."

"It was a raw November night," she began, "and though it did not exactly
storm, the wind moaned and raged through the trees, blowing the fallen
leaver about in gusts, and making a pleasant fire seem doubly cheerful.
The large hickory logs were roaring and blazing in our huge fireplace
and my father, my mother, my two brothers, and myself were gathered
around the fire. I was the eldest, but I was then only twelve years old;
and yet, I remember always to have felt a great deal of care and
responsibility towards the other children I never can forget the night,
for I then experienced my first lesson of self-forgetfulness; and
whenever I speak of it, it seems as