k their tea out of the crocodile cups, and told
little stories of fifty years before, filled Gardis with admiring
respect. She sat, as it were, in the shadow of their greatness, and
obediently ate only of those dishes that required a fork, since the
three spoons were, of course, in use. During this memorable visit Cousin
Copeland was always "engaged in his study" at meal-times; but in the
evening he appeared, radiant and smiling, and then the four played whist
together on the Chinese table, and the ladies fanned themselves with
stately grace, while Cousin Copeland dealt not only the cards, but
compliments also--both equally old-fashioned and well preserved.

But within this first year of peace Miss Margaretta had died--an old
lady of seventy-five, but bright and strong as a winter apple. Gardis
and Cousin Copeland, left alone, moved on in the same way: it was the
only way they knew. Cousin Copeland lived only in the past, Gardis in
the present; and indeed the future, so anxiously considered always by
the busy, restless Northern mind, has never been lifted into the place
of supreme importance at the South.

When breakfast was over, Gardis went up stairs into the drawing-room.
Cousin Copeland, remarking, in his busy little way, that he had
important work awaiting him, retired to his study--a round room in the
tower, where, at an old desk with high back full of pigeon-holes, he had
been accustomed for years to labor during a portion of the day over
family documents a century or two old, recopying them with minute care,
adding foot-notes, and references leading back by means of red-ink stars
to other documents, and appending elaborately phrased little comments
neatly signed in flourishes with his initials and the date, such as
"Truly a doughty deed. C. B. G. 1852."--"'Worthy,' quotha? Nay, it
seemeth unto my poor comprehension a _marvelous_ kindness! C. B. G.
1856."--"May we all profit by this! C. B. G. 1858."

This morning, as usual, Gardis donned her gloves, threw open the heavy
wooden shutters, and, while the summer morning sunshine flooded the
room, she moved from piece to piece of the old furniture, carefully
dusting it all. The room was large and lofty; there was no carpet on the
inlaid floor, but a tapestry rug lay under the table in the center of
the apartment; everything was spindle-legged, chairs, tables, the old
piano, two cabinets, a sofa, a card-table, and two little tabourets
embroidered in Scriptural scenes