t he gave me a
pleasant smile when Preston presented him.

"We's happy to see Miss Daisy at her own home. Hope de Lord bress
her."

My heart warmed at these words like the ice-bound earth in a spring
day. They were not carelessly spoken, nor was the welcome. My feet
trod the greensward more firmly. Then all other thoughts were for the
moment put to flight by Preston's calling for the pony and asking
Darius what he thought of him, and Darry's answer.

"Very far, massa; very far. Him no good for not'ing."

While I pondered what this judgment might amount to, the pony was
brought out. He was larger than Loupe, and had not Loupe's peculiar
symmetry of mane and tail: he was a fat dumpy little fellow, sleek and
short, dapple grey, with a good long tail and a mild eye. Preston
declared he had no shape at all and was a poor concern of a pony; but
to my eyes he was beautiful. He took one or two sugarplums from my
hand with as much amenity as if we had been old acquaintances. Then a
boy was put on him, who rode him up and down with a halter.

"He'll do, Darius," said Preston.

"For little missis? Just big enough, massa. Got no tricks at all, only
he no like work. Not much spring in him."

"Daisy must take the whip, then. Come and let us go look at some of
the country where you will ride. Are you tired, Daisy?"

"Oh no," I said. "But wait a minute, Preston. Who lives in all those
houses?"

"The people. The hands. They are away in the fields at work now."

"Does Darius live there?"

"Of course. They all live here."

"I should like to go nearer, and see the houses."

"Daisy, it is nothing on earth to see. They are all just alike, and
you see them from here."

"I want to look in," I said, moving down the slope.

"Daisy," said Preston, "you are just as fond of having your way
as----"

"As what? I do not think I am, Preston."

"I suppose nobody thinks he is," grumbled Preston, following me,
"except the fellows who can't get it."

I had by this time almost forgotten Miss Pinshon. I had almost come to
think that Magnolia might be a pleasant place. In the intervals when
the pony was out of sight, I had improved my knowledge of the old
coachman; and every look added to my liking. There was something I
could not read that more and more drew me to him. A simplicity in his
good manners, a placid expression in his gravity, a staid reserve in
his humility, were all there; and more yet. Also the scene in the dell
was cha