“Yes. Not the people who found the tomb in the forest, but some real practical Arcadians, who enjoy life as Nature intended.” “Who knows what she intended? I am sure I don’t,” I said, crossly. Near the ruins of the mansion we found the Arcadians, a young man with his wife and child, living in a small out-building which might have been a cow-house. It was not more than ten feet square, the roof had fallen in, and was replaced by a rude thatch of palmetto leaves; there was no window of any kind, no floor save the sand, and for a door only an old coverlet hung up and tied back like a curtain. Within we could see a low settle-bed with some ragged coverings, a stool, powder, shot, and fishing tackle hung up on one side, and an old calico dress on the other; without was a table under a tree, a cupboard hung on the outside of the house, containing a few dishes, and the ashes of the family fire near at hand. Two thin dogs and a forlorn calf (oh, the cadaverous cattle of Florida!) completed the stock of this model farm. “They eat and cook out-of-doors all the year round, I suppose. What a home! Did any one ever see such poverty,” I said, “and such indolence? They do not even take the trouble to make a door.” “What do they want of a door? There is nothing to keep out but Nature. And as for poverty, they seem happy enough,” replied Sara. They did. The woman came to meet us with her brown baby, and the young husband took his gun and went out to find his supper--partridge from the wood, probably, and oysters from the beach. They had lived there three years, the woman said. Her name was Anita, her husband’s Gaspar, the baby was Rafaello. No, they did not work much. They had a few sweet-potatoes yonder, and sometimes she braided palmetto and took it down to the city to sell. Gaspar had a dug-out, and sometimes he sold fish, but not often. They had every thing they wanted. Did she know any thing about this old place? No, she did not. Couldn’t she find out? Yes, she supposed she could; her people had lived along the Matanzas for years; but she never took the trouble to ask. Should she send that brown baby to school when it grew larger? “To school?” And the young mother laughed merrily, showing even, white teeth, and tossing up the little Rafaello until he crowed with glee. “None of us-uns goes to school, my lady.” “But what will he do, then?” “Do? Why, live here or somewhars, jes as we’re doing,” replied Anita. “That’s all _he_ wants.” “A great many people come over here in the season, do they not?” I asked, abandoning my educational efforts. “Yes, pleasant days folks come.” “Do you think the ladies are pretty?” “Sometimes,” replied Anita, with a critical air. “Wouldn’t you like to look as they do?” “Oh no,” replied our “nut-brown mayde,” with a broad, contented smile. “And the gentlemen. What do you think of them?”