-framed photograph of
Peggy's mother. It had been taken shortly before her death and when such
a tragic ending to their ideal life had least been dreamed possible. A
fancy-dress ball had been given by the young officers stationed at the
Academy and Mrs. Stewart had attended it gowned as "Marie Stuart,"
wearing a superb black velvet gown and the widely-known "Marie Stuart
coif and ruff" of exquisite Point de Venice lace. She had never looked
lovelier, or more stately in her life, and that night Neil Stewart was
the proudest man on the ballroom floor. Then he had insisted upon a
famous Washington photographer taking this beautiful picture and--well,
it was the last ever taken of the wife he adored, for within another
month she had dropped asleep forever.

Good old Mammy's eyes were very tender as she looked at her boy, and
instead of saying what she had come to say: "ter jist nachelly an'
pintedly 'spress her min'," she went close to his side and looking at
the lovely face smiling at her, said:

"Dar weren't never, an' dar ain' never gwine ter be no sich lady as dat
a-one, Massa Neil, lessen it gwine be Miss Peggy. She favor her ma mo'
an' mo' every day she livin', an' I wisht ter Gawd her ma was right
hyer dis minit fer ter _see_ it, dat I do."

"Amen! Mammy," was Captain Stewart's reply. "Peggy needs more than we
can give her just now, no matter how hard we try. The trouble is she
seems to have grown up all in a minute apparently while we have been
thinking she was a child."

Neil Stewart placed the photograph back upon the top of the bookshelf
and sighed.

"No, sir, _dat_ ain't it. Deed tain't. She been a-growin' up dis long
time, but we's been dozin' like, an' ain't had our eyes open wide
'nough. An' now we's all got shook wide awake by _somebody else_."

Mammy paused significantly. Neil Stewart frowned.

"Just as well maybe. But don't light into me. I'm all frazzled out now.
Harrison's hints are like eight inch shells; Dr. Llewellyn's like a
highly charged electric battery; Jerome fires a blunderbuss every ten
minutes and even Shelby and Jess use pop-guns. Good Lord, are you going
to let drive with a gatling? Clear out and let me drink my cider in
peace, and quit stewing, for I tell you right now the fire-brand which
has kept the kettles boiling is going to be removed."

"Praise de Lawd fo' _dat_ blessin' den. It was jist gwine ter make some
of dem pots bile over if it had a-kep' on, yo' hyer me? Good-night,