And she wuz a beautiful child. Josiah said, and said well, that she went fur beyend anything on the globe for beauty, and smartness, and goodness. And Josiah Allen is a excellent judge of children, excellent. But, as I wuz a sayin’, Snow loved to talk about the little girl who had been mistress of this pretty place so long ago. She talked about her a sight. And if she had her way she would always go there to play, by the little grave—carry her dollies down there—Samantha Maggie Tirzah Ann, and the hull caboodle of ’em—she had as many as fourteen of ’em, anyway—and her dolls’ cradles, and wagons, and everything. And she wuz never so happy as when she wuz settled down there in that corner. Wall, it wuz pleasant as it could be. How clost the little rivulet did seem to hold the child’s grave in its dimpled arm, and its song never said to me: “My arm is warm and faithful, and is reaching out and reaching out to fold it round another of the nearest ones and dearest, and guard it, hold it safely from danger and from trouble.” No, I never heard this in its song, and I never heard any undertone of pity for hearts that would break with a new grief. No, I only heard low murmurs of compassion in its liquid tones for the achin’ hearts that had bent over this one little grave long ago. But the trees always did seem to cast greener, softer shadows here, and the sunshine and moonlight to rest more lovingly on it than on any other spot in the hull grounds. And I didn’t wonder at all at little Snow’s fancy for it. Oh, what a judgment that child showed in everything—it was a sight! One mornin’ I wuz a settin’ out on the veranda, and I see her as usual a settin’ out for that corner, Snow with her arms full of toys, and Genieve wheelin’ Boy in his cart, and the front of that full of Snow’s babies settin’ up stiff and straight, a starin’ back with their round, blank eyes at Boy’s pretty, laughin’ face. It wuz a lovely mornin’. The dew sparkled on the grass, and the walks of white shinin’ shells which had been washed clean by a brisk, short rain the night before, shone white and silvery through the fresh, green grass borderin’ ’em on each side. And the trees tosted out their shinin’ green branches, and the glossy-leaved shrubs shook out their sweet-scented flowers on the balmy air. The climbin’ roses bloomed out sweet and pink, the orange-trees gleamed with the round globes of gold, and anon clusters of posys amongst the shinin’ green leaves. It wuz a fair seen, a fair seen. And I sot enjoyin’ it to the full, and as is the depraved and curius nater of men and wimmen, a enjoyin’ it still more as I turned to it from the pages of a voluminous letter I had jest got and received from Philury.