In this little plantation world of ours was one being--and only one--who inspired awe in every heart, being a special terror to small children. This was the Queen of the Kitchen--Aunt Christian--who reigned supreme. She wore the whitest cotton cap, with the broadest of ruffles; was very black and very portly, and her sceptre was a good sized stick, kept to chastise small dogs and children who invaded her territory. Her character, however, having been long established she had not often occasion to use this weapon, as these enemies kept out of her way. Her pride was great, for, said she: "Haven't I been, long before this here little master whar is was born, bakin' the best light-bread and waffles and biscuit; and in my old master's time managed my own affars!" She was generally left to manage "her own affars," and being a pattern of neatness and industry her fame went abroad from Botetourt, even unto the remotest ends of Mecklenburg county. That this marvellous cooking was all the work of her own hands I am, in later years, inclined to doubt, as she kept several assistants, a boy to chop wood, beat biscuit, scour tables, lift off pots and ovens; one woman to make the pastry and another to compound cakes and jellies. But her fame was great; her pride lofty, and I would not now pluck one laurel from her wreath. This honest woman was appreciated by my mother, but we had no affinity for her, in consequence of certain traditions on the plantation about her severity to children. Having no children of her own, a favorite orphan house-girl, whenever my mother went from home, was left to her care. This girl--now an elderly woman, and still our faithful and loved servant,--says she remembers to this day her joy at my mother's return home, and her release from Aunt Christian. "I will never forget," to use her own words, "how I watched the road every day, hoping that mistress would come back, and when I saw the carriage I would run a mile, shouting and clapping my hands." Smiling faces always welcomed us home as the carriage passed through the plantation, and on reaching the house we were received by the negroes about the yard with liveliest demonstrations of pleasure. CHAPTER II. It was a long time before it dawned upon my mind there were places and people different from these. The plantations we visited seemed exactly like ours. The same hospitality everywhere, the same kindliness existing between the white family and the blacks. Confined exclusively to plantation scenes, the most trifling incidents impressed themselves indelibly upon me. One day while my mother was in the yard attending to the planting of some shrubbery, we saw approaching an old, feeble negro man, leaning upon his stick. His clothes were nearly worn out, and he, haggard and thin. "Good day, Mistess," said he. "Who are you?" asked my mother.