“See what rest and recreation have done for you, dear Will,” she said, smiling on him as he sat one morning by her chair. “You must not think of going back to college until after the summer vacation is over.” “Dear mother, I would gladly stay if I might, but I must leave you in a few days. I will, however, come often to see you,” he said, with a responsive smile. “Ah! what a devoted student you are!” she exclaimed, patting his head. “The one genius of our family. We shall all be very proud of you some day, Will, my boy.” As he thought of his blighted ambition, and his penal future, he could only smile at her words, as one might smile at stake and faggot. But he was pleased that she took his proposed departure so pleasantly. The early spring days passed cheerfully. Mr. Wynthrop and Mr. Silas often drew Harcourt out to go with them to the fields, and often, seeing those two men work with the hired laborers, he would join with them, and take hold heartily of any work that might be going on. The evenings in the parlor, with the kind-hearted, gay-spirited women of the family, were very pleasant, also, though he only joined them when his mother was asleep, or when she bade him go and entertain their “visitors.” She was never lonesome, for she never seemed to be alone. Almost every time he went in to see her she had something to tell him about his father, or John, or Peyton, or Caroline, or Ann Eliza, who, one or another, or all, had just been in to see her. Harcourt had grown so accustomed to these “delusions” that he was no longer shocked by them, but was reconciled to what made the poor lady happy. Martha, on the contrary, though she had so long borne them, could never get used to them. “To lib wid ghoses!” she would complain to Harcourt, “to hab ’em all youn’ yo’ day an’ night, to year de ole madam talkin’ an’ laughin’ ’long ob ’em! An’ nebber to see ’em, nor year ’em, but Lor’, I doane wan’ ter do dat! no, sah! But den, not to know how close dey may come to yo’! Oh, Lor’! It’s wusn de feber’n ager! I gets dashes ob ice water an’ flames ob fire ober me—one arter de oder! Ugh! An’ I darsn’t tel de ole madam dey is ghoses, an’ nuffin but ghoses, ’caze she fink dey’s yale, an’ Missus Wyn’op say it might kill her to tell her dat. Ugh! Wot I hab come to in de wenable ole ages ob my pilg’imidge!” “Bear your burden, Martha, and you will meet your reward,” said the young man. “I has beared my burden—cheerful! an’ I does bear my burdens—patient! But it ain’t burdens as is turnin’ ob my ha’r w’ite—burdens is nat’rel. It’s ghoses—ghoses wot yo’ can’t see—fank Him fo’ dat much!—nor take hol’ ob, nor turn out, nor likewise do nuffin wid!” “Well, they wouldn’t hurt you if they could, and they couldn’t hurt you if they would. Besides, you will be a ghost yourself some day.” “Oh, Lor’, young marse, yo’s bad as dem. Dere! I gwine away.” Many such talks as these took place between the young man and the old servant.