of its unbroken forests, the freedom of its untrod mountains,
the temper of its sun, and the sweetness of its tropic perfumes.

When Mrs. Cameron received Elsie's letter, asking her to secure for them
six good rooms at the "Palmetto" hotel, she laughed. The big rambling
hostelry had been burned by roving negroes, pigs were wallowing in the
sulphur springs, and along its walks, where lovers of olden days had
strolled, the cows were browsing on the shrubbery.

But she laughed for a more important reason. They had asked for a six-room
cottage if accommodations could not be had in the hotel.

She could put them in the Lenoir place. The cotton crop from their farm
had been stolen from the gin--the cotton tax of $200 could not be paid,
and a mortgage was about to be foreclosed on both their farm and home. She
had been brooding over their troubles in despair. The Stonemans' coming
was a godsend.

Mrs. Cameron was helping them set the house in order to receive the new
tenants.

"I declare," said Mrs. Lenoir gratefully. "It seems too good to be true.
Just as I was about to give up--the first time in my life--here came those
rich Yankees and with enough rent to pay the interest on the mortgages and
our board at the hotel. I'll teach Margaret to paint, and she can give
Marion lessons on the piano. The darkest hour's just before day. And last
week I cried when they told me I must lose the farm."

"I was heartsick over it for you."

"You know, the farm was my dowry with the dozen slaves Papa gave us on our
wedding-day. The negroes did as they pleased, yet we managed to live and
were very happy."

Marion entered and placed a bouquet of roses on the table, touching them
daintily until she stood each flower apart in careless splendour. Their
perfume, the girl's wistful dreamy blue eyes and shy elusive beauty, all
seemed a part of the warm sweet air of the June morning. Mrs. Lenoir
watched her lovingly.

"Mamma, I'm going to put flowers in every room. I'm sure they haven't such
lovely ones in Washington," said Marion eagerly, as she skipped out.

The two women moved to the open window, through which came the drone of
bees and the distant music of the river falls.

"Marion's greatest charm," whispered her mother, "is in her way of doing
things easily and gently without a trace of effort. Watch her bend over to
get that rose. Did you ever see anything like the grace and symmetry of
her figure--she seems a living flower!"

"