The girl rubbed the kitten against her face and cooed: “Well, it was its own Charlotte’s precious Prince of Walesy kitty-cat and if it wants to say that ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ is just a nasty old Black Republican mess of lies it shall, so it shall! Shan’t you, Walesy?” The kitten’s vehement response, slyly inspired, went unheeded as she turned again to her sister, demanding, “What do you want to read it for, Rhoda, when you know it’s just a lot of stuff with no truth in it?” “I don’t know that, Charlotte. I’ve wanted to read it for a long time, because it’s talked about so much. And while we were in Cincinnati we went to Levi Coffin’s, and they told us so much about Mrs. Stowe, and how she got some of the incidents for the story and talked such a lot about--the darkies who--try to go to Canada that it made me very anxious to read the book.” “Who’s Levi Coffin?” asked Charlotte, regarding her sister closely and noting a brief hesitation as Rhoda carefully folded the white silk before she replied: “Oh, just a friend of father’s. They’re Quakers and they wouldn’t interest you.” Charlotte reached for the book and turned its leaves over carelessly. “Humph! If they’re friends of Mrs. Stowe they’re probably just some more nigger-stealers! You’ll soon be a black abolitionist yourself, Rhoda, if you keep on. And then we won’t associate with her, will we, Walesy! Didn’t you meet any nice people?” Rhoda paid no heed to her sister’s aggressive tone. “Oh, yes! Mrs. Benjamin Harrison--Carrie Scott, you know--she and I were such good friends while I was at Dr. Scott’s Institute--happened to be visiting in Cincinnati and she and I had a long talk. And I saw several other girls whom I knew at Dr. Scott’s. And--oh, mother! You’ll be so pleased!” Her color warmed and her face brightened as she went on. “It was most romantic! We met Mr. Jefferson Delavan!” “Oh, did you! Where? How did it happen? Tell me all about it!” Mrs. Ware’s eager questions and delighted face showed how nearly the information touched her heart. But Charlotte merely demanded, with puzzled interest, “Who is he?” “Don’t you remember, Charlotte?” Rhoda went on. “His mother was Adeline Fairfax, mother’s dear friend when they were girls together in Virginia. My middle name is after her, you know, and it’s her miniature that mother has on her dressing table.” “Oh, yes!” exclaimed Charlotte. “It was at her home that we visited, wasn’t it, a long time ago, in Kentucky?” “Yes--Fairmount, they call it. Such a beautiful place, just beyond Lexington. Mother and you and I visited there for a month, twelve years ago, wasn’t it, mother, when we first came here to Hillside. You were only six years old then, so I suppose you don’t remember much about it. But I remember it all very well and what a good time we had.”