"One day in the early part of 1861, she came as usual after breakfast to consult your grandmother about the marketing that had been sent home. She had such a funny way of describing the pieces; she always involuntarily touched the part of her frame she was supposed to be designating, of mutton, or lamb. I was a light-hearted child then, and many a hearty laugh have I had at Tay's expense, as she would touch her leg, or shoulder, or even her head if a calf's head were in question. But to return to this day. She must have heard some talk among the negroes, for after she had got through her business, she lingered and said to her mistress, 'O Miss, I've had an awful dream,' Your grandmother spoke kindly to her, and asked her what it was. The faithful creature sat on the floor, and looking up into our faces she said: "I dreamed we was all in confusion an' dere was a big crowd, an' Maussa was sick, an' you all looked very sad, an' you all was dressed common; but dere was heaps of niggers 'round, but dey was all a-runnin' 'round, an' a-kickin' up a noise; an' deir arms in deir kimbos, an' not one a-workin'; and you all called for some water, an' not one went to git it, but I ran for it, an' I said, 'O Miss, you has been a good frien' to me, an' sometimes a bottom rail is more use dan a same quality one; an' so long as Kitty is here dere will always be somethin' between you an' the groun.' And she burst into tears and left the room. "Your grandmother said, 'She has had no dream. She wished to show us what is in her heart.' "Ah, children, those were dreadful days, and when in December Port Royal fell, flight, confusion, and distress were the order of the day on the coast. By all this there was many a young life cut short, as truly as though a bullet had stilled it; and it was not only the men who laid down their lives, many a gentle girl was also a victim. Your grandmother sent my two sisters and me to relatives in the interior of the State. She remained in Charleston to look after our affairs, intending to go to a hospital as a nurse, if needed. We had been in the up-country but a few days when your Aunt Lucy, as lovely a young girl as the sun ever shone on, was seized with fever. Her illness was fatal, and she died before her mother could reach her. "When we left your grandmother she had been obliged to go to our country place on Goose Creek, where she had remained alone--the colored driver and other negroes being the only people on the plantation. Tay had always lived in the city of Charleston, even when we were all on the plantation; and she always had the care of the city house. When the direful news of your Aunt Lucy's illness reached Charleston, Tay hastened up to the plantation to your grandmother, saying: