“Was she little, then?” Esther inquired, while with one hand she clasped his wrist, and with the other stroked his brow. “No. When the war broke out, she was just about to be married to your father, who had been appointed Captain under General Lee. She made a coat for him and quilted money in the collar. She had a way of doing things that nobody would have thought of. You remind me of her.” He folded his hands across his stick and was silent for a moment. “There is much about her life that I want you to know, and bear in mind, now that you are getting old enough to understand. She had great hopes for you, for your music. I’ve been thinking how proud she would be if she could know that you had got along well enough to be invited to play at the University--on commencement night at that. I ask nothing higher for you than that you make such a woman as your mother.” They did not see the old negro, ragged to the skin, coming around the corner of the house, carrying his discolored straw hat in one hand and mopping his face on a faded cotton handkerchief. CHAPTER II. “G’MORNIN’, Marse Hardin.” “Howdy, Sandy. Where did you come from? I thought you’d gone clear out of the country, for good.” “Nor sir, nor sir. You jes’ let a nigger git a taste of dis here spring water, and he’s charmed, conjured, he kyant stay away if he do go. But I come back, dis time, to see my young marster--Marse Davy Pool.” “How is he to-day?” “He daid. Dat’s what I was sent to tell you. Dey guinter bury him up at de old place.” “I am sorry to hear of his death, Sandy. He was the best one of the boys.” “Dat’s so, sir; ’tain’t nobody guine to miss him like his mammy do. She’s told me to ax you for your hoss and buggy. She’s afeared of the boys’ hosses, dey keep such wild uns. Marse Davy sold his’n, dat was the onliest one she would ride behind. She said she wanted Marse Hardin Campbell’s. It was so trusty and gentlelike.” “I was going to use it after dinner.” Mr. Campbell hesitated. “Send it on, grandpa. Send it on.” Esther saw the inquiring look her grandfather turned upon her. “Something will turn up.” “Suppose it shouldn’t; would you be disappointed?” he asked. “I never count on being disappointed,” she responded, quickly. “Ain’t she some kin to Miss Mary Campbell?” The negro’s face lighted as he asked the question. “That’s her daughter, Miss Esther Powel.” “It ’peared to me like I seed de favor in her face. Ev’ybody loved your mammy, honey. ’Twarn’ nobody that didn’t,” he said, turning to look again at Esther.