“It seems very hard to find anybody that does,” Mrs. Stewart went on, in the same melancholy way. “And yet Brazil is quite a well-known place, I’m told. And it certainly sounds more interesting than Mexico. It makes me think of birds, though I don’t know why. However, we shall soon be flitting somewhere like the birds. And there’s so much to be done. I was going to bury the silver yesterday; but then it occurred to me that I would have to dig up the whole garden to hide the spot from the negroes, and I really didn’t feel equal to it last night.” “Aunt Cora,” Harriot cried, “how can you say such things? You’ll give Dorothea such a wrong impression. You know our servants are all loyal.” Mrs. Stewart wagged her head doubtfully over her sewing. “I’m not so certain, honey,” she insisted. “They have grown very insolent of late—but what’s the difference now? My only trouble is that I can’t make sure where we shall find the best society, in Brazil or in Mexico. I had made up my mind to London, but of course that’s out of the question now.” “I should think it was!” Corinne cut in sharply. “I don’t fancy you’d find the society in London much changed,” Dorothea could not refrain from remarking. “Perhaps not,” Mrs. Stewart replied doubtfully, “but it would never be the same to me. Under the circumstances I should not care to grace the London drawing rooms—not after the news we have just received. But let us forget our troubles for a while if we can. Ring the bell, honey,” she went on to her daughter, “and order cake and wine. There is just one comfort I shall get out of this. I shall not hoard any longer. When I leave Washington I don’t intend to leave anything behind me for the beggarly Yankees to eat or drink.” Harriot nudged Dorothea. “Fruit cake,” she whispered as Corinne pulled the bell rope. Aloud she said, “I don’t see, Aunt Cora, what difference this English news makes. We all know that one Southerner is worth ten Yankees.” “Do you really think so, my dear?” her Aunt asked anxiously. “In that case perhaps I’d better not be so lavish. Corinne, you might go with Alice. Give her a glass of scuppernong wine for each of us and some seed cakes. I’ll save the fruit cake a little longer.” She handed her daughter the keys to the store-room and Dorothea could scarcely contain her laughter at the sight of Harriot’s disgusted face as she watched Corinne hurry out of the room. “Did you ever think, Mrs. Stewart,” Dorothea began mischievously, “of quilting gold coins into a petticoat? They say you can carry a great deal of money that way and never be suspected.” At once Mrs. Stewart’s fears were revived. “That is a very good idea, my dear,” she commented. “Harriot, my love, run and tell Corinne to bring us the fruit cake after all. We had much better enjoy it than have the Yankees gobbling it up.” Harriot did not wait to hear the end of the sentence. She was not minded to tarry and give her aunt an opportunity to change her mind once more.