In the olden time of slavery days, the mother of a new baby was the subject of especial envy. As a consequence, there were many privileges that attached, many immunities, both before and after it came. Ole Miss always went to the Quarters personally upon such occasions; the children followed with gifts, and put in their claims to the little black baby with many excited arguments. Upon the self-same day, the two little new faces peeped into the Quarters; the one, the child of stalwart Henry’s girl-wife, had been chosen to be fought over and cried over; the other had been accorded only ordinary honors, for Cindy was not a favorite among the children, and hence old Maumer’s jealousy was aroused. Through the long day Maumer sat and brooded, neglecting the toddlers who had strayed onto forbidden ground; and stirring the cradles roughly with her foot,—Old Maumer, who had been trusted and revered for so long,—but she had not a grandchild then. Ma’y Ann, the young assistant, played with acorn cups and bits of china under the old oak, unmolested, for Maumer was wrestling with a problem, and all of the latent, unsuspected savagery was rising. Then by-and-by the little wooden cradles were empty, for the work-day was done; the mothers had taken their babies to their own cabins, and Maumer laid Cindy’s child on her shoulder and closed the door. All night the candle glimmered through the cracks in Maumer’s cabin; all night she physicked and the baby cried; while Cindy, heavy-eyed and stupid, slept soundly until day. The door was closed; Maumer knew that she was disobeying orders, for Ole Miss had peremptorily commanded that she was to be notified in case of serious illness. But Maumer was sly and cunning; Ole Miss should not be told. Convulsion after convulsion shook the tiny frame, all of the remedies were used without effect, and towards daybreak she tried the baby’s fortune, “come life er come death”; then Maumer made up her mind. * * * * * The old oak was casting its soft shade across the lawn, where the Nursery toddlers sat sedately munching the sweet corn pone that it was one of old Maumer’s duties to provide, while Ma’y Ann was just starting to the spring for a bucket of cool water. [Illustration: “SHOULD SHE DO IT?”] “An’ min’, yo’ fetch me my gourd yo’ lef’ on de battlin’-bench ’side de branch, an’ min’ yo’ herries, ’fore I beat de life outen yo’!” Ma’y Ann’s eyes widened and “bucked” at Maumer’s unwonted proposition, as she idly swung the bucket along the hill-path, singing an irrelevant, foolish little song. The great bell would ring in a moment; Maumer knew it by the shadow of the oak, as well as by the old dial just across the lawn.