learing in Gundover's woods, where Robert and Uncle Daniel had
held their last prayer-meeting. Now the gloomy silence of those woods
was broken by the hum of industry, the murmur of cheerful voices, and
the merry laughter of happy children. Where they had trodden with fear
and misgiving, freedmen walked with light and bounding hearts. The
school-house had taken the place of the slave-pen and auction-block.
"How is yer, ole boy?" asked one laborer of another.

"Everything is lobly," replied the other. The blue sky arching overhead
and the beauty of the scenery justified the expression.

Gundover had died soon after the surrender. Frank Anderson had grown
reckless and drank himself to death. His brother Tom had been killed in
battle. Their mother, who was Gundover's daughter, had died insane.
Their father had also passed away. The defeat of the Confederates, the
loss of his sons, and the emancipation of his slaves, were blows from
which he never recovered. As Robert passed leisurely along, delighted
with the evidences of thrift and industry which constantly met his eye,
he stopped to admire a garden filled with beautiful flowers, clambering
vines, and rustic adornments.

On the porch sat an elderly woman, darning stockings, the very
embodiment of content and good humor. Robert looked inquiringly at her.
On seeing him, she almost immediately exclaimed, "Shore as I'se born,
dat's Robert! Look yere, honey, whar did yer come from? I'll gib my head
fer a choppin' block ef dat ain't Miss Nancy's Bob. Ain't yer our Bobby?
Shore yer is."

"Of course I am," responded Robert. "It isn't anybody else. How did you
know me?"

"How did I know yer? By dem mischeebous eyes, ob course. I'd a knowed
yer if I had seed yer in Europe."

"In Europe, Aunt Linda? Where's that?"

"I don't know. I specs its some big city, somewhar. But yer looks jis'
splendid. Yer looks good 'nuff ter kiss."

"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't say that. You make me blush."

"Oh you go 'long wid yer. I specs yer's got a nice little wife up dar
whar yer comes from, dat kisses yer ebery day, an' Sunday, too."

"Is that the way your old man does you?"

"Oh, no, not a bit. He isn't one ob de kissin' kine. But sit down," she
said, handing Robert a chair. "Won't yer hab a glass ob milk? Boy, I'se
a libin' in clover. Neber 'spected ter see sich good times in all my
born days."

"Well, Aunt Linda," said Robert, seating himself near her, and drinking
the glass of milk whi