d is about
twenty-three miles long by six wide. Its two towns are Christiansted
on the north and Fredericksted on the south. Christiansted is the
capital.

In 1848 I lived in Fredericksted, on Kongensgade, or King Street, with
my aunts, Marion, Anna, and Marcia, and my grandmother--whom the
servants called Mi'ss Paula--and was just old enough to begin taking
care of my dignity. Whether I was Danish, British, or American I
hardly knew. When grandmamma, whose husband had been of a family that
had furnished a signer of our Declaration, told me stories of Bunker
Hill and Yorktown I glowed with American patriotism. But when she
turned to English stories, heroic or momentous, she would remind me
that my father and mother were born on this island under British sway,
and--"Once a Briton always a Briton." And yet again, my playmates
would say:

"When _you_ were born the island was Danish; you are a subject of King
Christian VIII."

Kongensgade, though narrow, was one of the main streets that ran the
town's full length from northeast to southwest, and our home was a
long, low cottage on the street's southern side, between it and the
sea. Its grounds sloped upward from the street, widened out
extensively at the rear, and then suddenly fell away in bluffs to the
beach. It had been built for "Mi'ss Paula" as a bridal gift from her
husband. But now, in her widowhood, his wealth was gone, and only
refinement and inspiring traditions remained.

The sale or hire of her slaves might have kept her in comfort; but a
clergyman, lately from England, convinced her that no Christian should
hold a slave, and setting them free she accepted a life of self-help
and of no little privation. She was his only convert. His zeal cooled
early. Her ex-slaves, finding no _public_ freedom in custom or law,
merely hired their labor unwisely and yearly grew more worthless.

[The reader lifted his eyes across to Aline:

"I had a notion to name that much 'The Time,' and this next part 'The
Scene.' What do you think?"

"Yes, I think so. 'Twould make the manner of it less antique."

"Ah!" cried Mlle. Corinne, "'tis not a movie! Tha'z the charm, that
antie-quitie!"

"Yes," the niece assented again, "but even with that insertion 'tis yet
as old-fashioned as 'Paul and Virginia.'"

"Or 'Rasselas,'" Chester suggested, and resumed his task.]

XXVIII

(THE SCENE)

Yet to be poor on that island did not compel a sordid narrowing of