ere was plenty of it. So there was plenty of
works of art, in home and foreign manufacture. Comfort, elegance,
prettiness, all around; and through the clear glass of the long
windows the evergreen oaks on the lawn showed like guardians of the
place. I stood at one of them, with the pressure of that joy and
sorrow filling my childish heart.

My aunt presently called me from the window, and bade me let Margaret
take off my things. I got leave to go upstairs with Margaret and take
them off there. So I ran up the low easy flight of stairs--they were
wooden and uncarpeted--to a matted gallery lit from the roof, with
here and there a window in a recess looking upon the lawn. Many rooms
opened into this gallery. I went from one to another. Here were great
wood fires burning too; here were snowy white beds, with light muslin
hangings; and dark cabinets and wardrobes; and mats on the floors,
with thick carpets and rugs laid down here and there. And on one side
and on the other side the windows looked out upon the wide lawn, with
its giant oaks hung with grey wreaths of moss. My heart grew sore
straitened. It was a hard evening, that first evening at Magnolia;
with the loveliness and the brightness, the warm attraction, and the
bitter cold sense of loneliness. I longed to throw myself down and
cry. What I did, was to stand by one of the windows and fight myself
not to let the tears come. If _they_ were here, it would be so happy!
If they were here--oh, if they were here!

I believe the girl spoke to me without my hearing her. But then came
somebody whom I was obliged to hear, shouting "Daisy" along the
gallery. I faced him with a great effort. He wanted to know what I was
doing, and how I liked it, and where my room was.

"Not found it yet?" said Preston. "Is this it? Whose room is this,
hey?--you somebody?"

"Maggie, massa," said the girl, dropping a curtsey.

"Maggie, where is your mistress's room?"

"This is Mis' 'Liza's room, sir."

"Nonsense! Miss 'Liza is only here on a visit--_this_ is your
mistress. Where is her room, hey?"

"Oh stop, Preston!" I begged him. "I am not mistress."

"Yes, you are. I'll roast anybody who says you ain't. Come along, and
you shall choose which room you will have; and if it isn't ready they
will get it ready. Come!"

I made him understand my choice might depend on where other people's
rooms were; and sent him off. Then I sent the girl away--she was a
pleasant-faced mulatto, very eag