owed long usage.

To-day, when at last this easy-tempered lady paused of her own accord,
Winthrop accepted her invitation promptly; he spoke of coming for her
with a carriage the next afternoon; he should enjoy seeing something of
the interior, those singular roads across the barrens which were so old
and untouched and yet in such perfect condition--so he had been told.

When he had brought his little speech to a close, his hostess gave way
to laughter (her laugh was hearty, her whole amplitude took part in it).
"But this isn't interior," she said, "this is coast; East Angels is down
the river, south of here; when I said I would take you, I meant in a
boat."

She had in her mind Uncle Cato, and the broad, safe, old row-boat,
painted black and indefinite as to bow and stern, which that venerable
negro propelled up and down the Espiritu as custom required. But instead
of voyaging in this ancient bark, Winthrop persuaded her to intrust
herself to the rakish-looking little craft, sloop-rigged, which he had
engaged for his own use among the lagoons during his stay in Gracias, a
direct descendant, no doubt, of the swift piratical barks of the
wreckers and smugglers who, until a very recent date, had infested the
Florida keys. Once on board, Mrs. Carew adjured the man at the helm to
"keep the floor straight at any price," and then seating herself, and
seizing hold of the first solid object she could find, she tightly
closed her eyes and did not again open them, being of the opinion
apparently that the full force of a direct glance would infallibly upset
the boat. She had postponed their visit for a day, in order that she
might have time to send Uncle Cato down to East Angels, with a note
saying that they were coming. Stately Raquel, in a freshly starched
turban, was therefore in waiting to open the lower door; Mrs. Thorne's
best topics were arranged in order in her mind, as well as orange wine
and wafers upon her sideboard, and Garda also, neither asleep in the
hammock nor wandering afield with the crane, was in readiness, sitting
expectant in an old mahogany arm-chair, attired in her best gown. Poor
Garda had but two gowns to choose from, both faded, both old; but the
one called best had been lately freshened and mended by the skilful
hands of the tireless mother.

"When that little woman dies, some of her mendings ought to be enclosed
in a glass case and set up over her grave as a monument, I do declare!"
said Mrs. Carew