red dimity, and curling herself on the
window-seat, became a part of the April night. Crouching there in the
scented air, beneath the large, mild stars, she tried to think of
Virginia and the coming war, but at the end of every avenue she came
upon a morning hour. Perhaps it would be in the flower garden, perhaps
in the summer-house, perhaps in the plantation woods where the
windflower and the Judas tree were in bloom. Her heart was hopeful. So
lifted and swept was the world to-night, so ready for great things, that
her great thing also ought to happen, her rose of happiness ought to
bloom. "After to-morrow," she said to herself, "I will think of
Virginia, and I'll begin to help."

Toward daybreak, lying in the large four-post bed beneath the white
tasselled canopy, she fell asleep. The sun was an hour high when she
awoke. Hagar, the girl who waited upon her, came in and flung wide the
shutters. "Dar's er mockin' bird singin' mighty neah dish-yer window!
Reckon he gwine mek er nes' in de honeysuckle."

"I meant to wake up very early," said Judith. "Is any one downstairs
yet, Hagar?--No, not that dress. The one with the little flowers."

"Dar ain' nobody down yit," said Hagar. "Marse Richard Cleave, he done
come down early, 'way 'bout daybreak. He got one of de stable-men ter
saddle he horse an' he done rode er way. Easter, she come in de house
jes' ez he wuz leaving en he done tol' her ter tell marster dat he'd
done been thinkin' ez how dar wuz so much ter do dat he'd better mek an
early start, en he lef' good-bye fer de fambly. Easter, she ax him won't
he wait 'twel the ladies come down, en he say No. 'Twuz better fer him
ter go now. En he went. Dar ain' nobody else come down less'n hits Marse
Maury Stafford.--Miss Judith, honey, yo' ain' got enny mo' blood in yo'
face than dat ar counterpane! I gwine git yo' er cup er coffee!"

CHAPTER V

THUNDER RUN

Allan Gold, teaching the school on Thunder Run, lodged at the tollgate
halfway down the mountain. His parents were dead, his brothers moved
away. The mountain girls were pretty and fain, and matches were early
made. Allan made none; he taught with conscientiousness thirty
tow-headed youngsters, read what books he could get, and worked in the
tollgate keeper's small, bright garden. He had a passion for flowers. He
loved, too, to sit with his pipe upon the rude porch of the toll-house,
fanned by the marvellous mountain air, and look down over ridges of
chest