It was after the war and Paulphemia was free. Surely, she knew all this, for hadn’t her pa fallen in battle, bravely fighting? and hadn’t she fled with her dear widowed missus and little missuses in as great terror as they when the Union army entered the city? For she loved this mistress, and was only dimly sure that freedom was to be such a glorious thing. Surely no one knew better than Paulphemia that she was free, and yet where was the use in singing all day, “I’se free, thank de Lord,” or of falling on her knees periodically to shout and praise God, as “_maw_” did? I have said that she seemed to appreciate better her own doleful melody than the martial music; in reality, though, her song was a kind of “Get thee behind me, Satan,” to the tempter urging her to run over to the barracks. Indeed Paulphemia’s cup was one of mingled joy and pain, and therein, although as black as ebony, she was akin to us. True, she was free; that meant she had no more _toting_ of missus’ babies. But when she lived with missus, she didn’t have to live with ma; and Paulphemia would have told you, “this ma ain’t my ma, ’cause my own dear ma done died,” and this ma had decreed that the child should not run loose hither and yon, and especially should not go over to the fort and barracks. Paulphemia almost envied the little dwarf, her neighbor, poor little Joe Morgan, whose body and limbs were so distorted and mixed up that he could scratch his ear or his little woolly head with his toes. For the amusement this accomplishment afforded the soldiers, he was welcome at any time, and in this way picked up many a penny. “Paulphemie,” shouted an imperative voice, “I’se a gwine ter whip you, chile, if you darst go over to them quarters!” The old woman, with her threat and her stick for enforcing it, appeared most opportunely in the cabin door, for the child had slid from the gate-post and in another second would have rallied round the flag; but with a face expressive of innocence itself, she responded, “I’se jis a comin’, maw!” This meekness deceived the old woman and she changed her menacing tones. “Honey,” she said, “your _pore_ ma’s done died, an’ nebber lived to see us free! Say, honey, reckon you’d like for to be a lady like ole missus?” “Dunno,” answered Paulphemia, for “Yankee Doodle” was just then driving her almost wild. “Say, honey, reckon you’d like for to go to the big paid school?” At this the child opened wider her big eyes, for next to the barracks in point of mystery was the large school into which she had longed to penetrate. “You get learning, chile, an’ get religion, an’ sure ’nough you’se a lady like ole missus.” This was what the old woman told Paulphemia then, and afterward put her to school.