A momentous change, and one that was to alter the complexion of all our lives. Yet it was so gradually and quietly effected that we were not conscious of so much as a jar in the machinery of our existence. I heard my mother say, and more than once, in after-years, crowded with incident and with cares of which we never dreamed in those eventless months: “I was never quite contented to live anywhere out of Richmond, yet I often asked myself during the seven years we spent in Powhatan if they were not the most care-free I should ever have. I know, now, that they were.” My father gave a fervent assent when he heard this. To him the sojourn was prosperous throughout. Energy, integrity, public spirit, intelligence, and, under the exterior chance acquaintances thought stern, the truest heart that ever throbbed with love to God and love to man, had won for him the esteem and friendship of the best men in the county. Steadily he mounted, by the force of native worth, to the magistrate’s bench, and was a recognized factor in local and in state politics. He had established a flourishing Sunday-school in the “Fine Creek neighborhood,” where none had ever existed until he made this the nucleus of a church. He was the confidential adviser of the embarrassed planter and the struggling mechanic, and lent a helping hand to both. He was President of a debating society, in which he was, I think, the only man who was not a college graduate. His business had succeeded far beyond his expectations. Except that the increase of means moved him to larger charities, there was no change in our manner of life. We had always been above the pinch of penury, living as well as our neighbors, and, so far as the younger members of the family knew, as well as any reasonable people need desire to live. We had our carriage and horses, my sister and I a riding-horse apiece, abundance of delicacies for the table, and new clothes of excellent quality whenever we wanted them. The ambitions and glories of the world beyond our limited sphere came to our ken as matter of entertainment, not as provocatives to discontent. Two nights before we left home for our city school, the Harvest Home—“corn-shucking”—was held. It was always great fun to us younglings to witness the “show.” With no premonition that I should never assist at another similar function, I went into the kitchen late in the afternoon, and, as had been my office ever since I was eight years old, superintended the setting of the supper-table for our servants and their expected guests. I was Mammy Ritta’s special pet, and she put in a petition that I would stand by her now, in terms I could not have resisted if I had been as averse to the task as I was glad to perform it: “Is you goin’ to be sech a town young lady that you won’t jes’ step out and show us how to set de table, honey?” could have but one answer.