Oh, the stories that one uncovered--right in one’s own town, among one’s own set--like foul sewers underneath the pavements! The succession of deceased generations, of imbeciles, epileptics, paralytics! The innocent children born to a life-time of torment; the women hiding their secret agonies from the world! Sometimes women went all through life without knowing the truth about themselves. There was poor Mrs. Valens, for example, who reclined all day upon the gallery of one of the most beautiful homes in the county, and showed her friends the palms of her hands, all covered with callouses and scales, exclaiming: “What in the world do you suppose can be the matter with me?” She had been a beautiful woman, a “belle” of “Miss Margaret’s” day; she had married a man who was rich and handsome and witty--and a rake. Now he was drunk all the time, and two of his children had died in hospital, and another had arms that came out of joint, and had to be put in plaster of Paris for months at a time. His wife, the one-time darling of society, would lie on her couch and read the Book of Job until she knew it by heart. And could you believe it, when Sylvia came home, ablaze with excitement over the story, she found that the only thing that her relatives were able to see in it was the Book of Job! Under the burden of her afflictions the woman had become devout; and how could anyone fail to see in this the deep purposes of Providence revealed? “Verily,” said “Miss Margaret,” “‘whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth.’ We are told in the Lord’s Word that ‘the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children, even unto the third and fourth generations,’ and do you suppose the Lord would have told us that, if He had not known there would be such children?” 19. I cannot pass over this part of my story without bringing forward Mrs. Armistead, the town cynic, who constituted herself one of Sylvia’s sources of information in the crisis. Mrs. Sallie Ann Armistead was the mother of two boys with whom Sylvia, as a child, had insisted upon playing, in spite of the protests of the family. “Wha’ fo’ you go wi’ dem Armistead chillun, Mi’ Sylvia?” would cry Aunt Mandy, the cook. “Doan’ you know they granddaddy done pick cottin in de fiel’ ‘long o’ me?” But while her father was picking cotton, Sallie Ann had looked after her complexion and her figure, and had married a rising young merchant. Now he was the wealthy proprietor of a chain of “nigger stores,” and his wife was the possessor of the most dreaded tongue in Castleman County.