"It is quaint, and lovely, and with the pearls will be quite charming; and then I have heard that there are visitors—yes, actually three or four visitors in Magnoliaville," said my mother, with a sparkle of animation. "But I don’t want to wear that dress; indeed, I would rather stay at home than put it on!" I faltered, ashamed, yet determined to speak out my fears. "Why, Phemie!" she exclaimed, in gentle scorn, "what nonsense! You are nineteen years old, and have too few opportunities of going into the world to give up one for a childish whim. I was married at your age," sighing softly; then her eyes strayed from me to the picture. "How strangely you resemble her! It would really be a fine idea to copy the picture as closely as possible." "Oh, mother!" I shuddered: but she chided me gently, and I had to yield to her wishes. She superintended my toilet that night, and I trembled when I looked at myself in the mirror; for it was not Phemie D’Esterre, the obscure country girl, but Euphemia D’Esterre, the Louisiana belle and beauty, reflected before my startled eyes. The string of pearls around my throat and a cluster of white roses completed the illusion. Friends were coming over the river for me, and my mother hastened down stairs to be ready to meet them, leaving me to follow more leisurely. A light burned in the lower hall, and Uncle Peter sat in his favorite chair dozing. Did the rustle of my gown disturb him as I stepped softly from stair to stair? He moved uneasily, raised his head, and glancing upward, saw me. For a moment he stared vacantly, his dim old eyes clouded with sleep; but as I drew nearer a dull, ashy hue overspread his face—a convulsive trembling seized him. "Great land! ef dar ain’t Miss Euphemy now, done come at las’!" he muttered, hoarsely. "Honey, I’se been ’spectin’ en lookin’ fo’ yo’ menny a day. Dar, dar, don’t come tu nigh," raising a shaking hand pleadingly. "I ’spect I know what yo’ come fo’. Hit’s ’bout dem letters dey tuk, en de way dey treated young marse ’bout dat money dey made lack ’e stole. I knowed dar’d be no res’ fo’ yo’ tel yo’ foun’ hit all out. Hit wusn’t me, honey. I neber done yo’ no harum. Hit was ole Dan’l. Yo’ ’member Dan’l, what waited on ole marse, en knowed all de comin’-in en goin’-out o’ de place? Hit wus Dan’l ole marse gin dem gold dollars tu, tu he’p git young marse in trubble, tu spy on yo’, en tu steal de letters what yo’ writ ’im. Oh, yes, yes. Peter wus mighty young den, des big ernuff tu wait on Marse Albert; but ’e know all long how dey wus treatin’ yo’. ’E watch en listen, but ’e ’feered tu speak, en ’e wouldn’t say nuffin arterwards fo’ de fambly’s sake; ’e des keep hit all tu ’isse’f."