“Oh, you’re just known all about in Kings Port.” I wish that our miserable alphabet could in some way render the soft Southern accent which she gave to her words. But it cannot. I could easily misspell, if I chose; but how, even then, could I, for instance, make you hear her way of saying “about”? “Aboot” would magnify it; and besides, I decline to make ugly to the eye her quite special English, that was so charming to the ear. “Kings Port just knows all about you,” she repeated with a sweet and mocking laugh. “Do you mind telling me how?” She explained at once. “This place is death to all incognitos.” The explanation, however, did not, on the instant, enlighten me. “This? The Woman’s Exchange, you mean?” “Why, to be sure! Have you not heard ladies talking together here?” I blankly repealed her words. “Ladies talking?” She nodded. “Oh!” I cried. “How dull of me! Ladies talking! Of course!” She continued. “It was therefore widely known that you were consulting our South Carolina archives at the library--and then that notebook you bring marked you out the very first day. Why, two hours after your first lunch we just knew all about you!” “Dear me!” said I. “Kings Port is ever ready to discuss strangers,” she further explained. “The Exchange has been going on five years, and the resident families have discussed each other so thoroughly here that everything is known; therefore a stranger is a perfect boon.” Her gayety for a moment interrupted her, before she continued, always mocking and always sweet: “Kings Port cannot boast intelligence offices for servants; but if you want to know the character and occupation of your friends, come to the Exchange!” How I wish I could give you the raciness, the contagion, of her laughter! Who would have dreamed that behind her primness all this frolic lay in ambush? “Why,” she said, “I’m only a plantation girl; it’s my first week here, and I know every wicked deed everybody as done since 1812!” She went back to her counter. It had been very merry; and as I was settling the small debt for my lunch I asked: “Since this is the proper place for information, will you kindly tell me whose wedding that cake is for?” She was astonished. “You don’t know? And I thought you were quite a clever Ya--I beg your pardon--Northerner. “Please tell me, since I know you’re quite a clever Reb--I beg your pardon--Southerner.” “Why, it’s his own! Couldn’t you see that from his bashfulness?” “Ordering his own wedding cake?” Amazement held me. But the door opened, one of the elderly ladies entered, the girl behind the counter stiffened to primness in a flash, and I went out into Royal Street as the curly dog’s tail wagged his greeting to the newcomer. III: Kings Port Talks