to rise from the deep chintz-covered
chair, in which Aunt Euphronasia and Sally had placed me; but one
afternoon, when the old negress had returned to the kitchen, and Sally
had gone out on an errand, I disobeyed their orders and crawled out on
the porch, where the scent of the jessamine seemed a part of the summer
sunshine. The next day I ventured as far as the kitchen steps, and found
Aunt Euphronasia plucking a chicken for my broth, with little Benjamin
asleep in his carriage at her side.

"Aunt Euphronasia, do you know where Sally goes every afternoon?" I
enquired.

"Hi! Marse Ben, ain't un 'oman erbleeged ter teck her time off de same
ez a man?" she demanded indignantly. "She cyarn' be everlastin'ly
a-settin' plum at yo' elbow."

"You know perfectly well I'm not such a brute as to be complaining,
mammy."

"Mebbe you ain't, honey, but hit sounds dat ar way ter me."

"If I could only make sure she'd gone to walk, I'd be jolly glad."

"Ef'n you ax me," she retorted contemptuously, "she ain't de sort, suh,
dat's gwineter traipse jes' fur de love er traipsing.'"

There was small comfort, I saw, to be had from her, so turning away,
while she resumed her plucking, I crawled slowly back through the
bedroom into the hall, and along the hall to the front door, which stood
open. Here the dust of the street rose like steam to my nostrils, and
the stone steps and the brick pavement were thickly coated. A
watering-cart turned the corner, scattering a refreshing spray, and
behind it came a troop of thirsty dogs, licking greedily at the water
before it sank into the dust. The foliage of the trees was scorched to a
livid shade, and the ends of the leaves curled upward as if a flame had
blown by them. Down the street, as I stood there, came the old familiar
cry from a covered wagon: "Water-million! Hyer's yo' watermillion fresh
f'om de vine!"

Clinging to the iron railing, which burned my hand, I descended the
steps with trembling limbs, and stood for a minute in the patch of shade
at the bottom. A negro, seated on the curbing, was drinking the juice
from a melon rind, and he looked up at me with rolling eyes, his
gluttonous red lips moving in rapture.

"Dish yer's a moughty good melon, Marster," he said, and returned to his
feast.

As I was about to place my foot on the bottom step and begin the
difficult ascent, my eyes, raised to our sitting-room window, hung
spellbound on a black and white sign fastened against the