In Pleasant Valley, at the head of Fausley Creek, there were several quarters, in one of which lived Nancy Young, not a stone’s throw from the quarter of Aunt Cassey. Nancy helped in milking the cows, churning, making butter, and at harvest time helped the cooks, but Mammy Nancy, as the darkies called her, was virtually her own mistress, and was never required to do hard work; in short, she was the plantation doctress, and it was seldom that any little darkies came into the world without Mammy Nancy’s assisting their advent. The negroes thought her inspired, and when they had ailments Nancy made them a decoction that went to the spot; in brief, she was well acquainted with the use of herbs. She had faithfully nursed Mrs. Isaac Atkinson, a Quakeress and neighbor, who imparted to her many of her secret remedies; some of these would have enlightened a modern doctor. For example, she had a remedy for what she called “cowbuncle,” which was almost a specific for carbuncle. Nancy especially doted on making catnip tea, and when she held in her faithful arms a cantankerous baby, and crooned and gave it catnip tea, “De chile wan’ pestered no mo.’” She was motherly, sympathetic and a born nurse, and not only attended the servants, but nursed the ladies of the neighborhood. She was extremely pious, and if she had not been, I do not know what would have become of Little Billy; she was his wife. Nancy was full of determination and spirit, and when Billy came in early in the morning from ’possum hunting without a ’possum, she always suspected he had been to Major Rudd’s store, and took the strong hand with him that he took with his steers, and would not let him have his banjo and pipe. The earliest watermelons grew in her garden, and she had spring chicken weeks before her neighbors. Billy was not allowed even to go into the garden, for she was afraid he might disturb her herb patch. It did not disturb Billy, however, who preferred his corncob pipe and banjo. Nancy was very fond of music, and once she said to me: “Billy ain’ got no erligion, but he do play de banjo same ez uh cherrypin” [cherubim]. Some gypsies struck their tents on the main road about a mile from Nancy’s home, and one night a man rode up, inquired for Mammy Nancy, and said his wife was sick. She was soon with the gypsy, who was ailing some two weeks, and when Nancy returned she was not only a doctress, but a firm believer in witchcraft, and could tell your fortune by looking at your hand. Nancy was making some bone-set and snake-root tea—Billy had the shakes, so she said—when Billy broke the silence by asking, “Nancy, what’s de matter wid dem hens?” “Billy, you know uh mink skerd de hens week ’fo’ lars’, an’ ’sturbed deah mem’ry fuh layin’. I ain’ got but eight eggs ter-day an’ none yistiddy, so dese all we got fuh suppah.”