"If I were at the North," she said to her little girl, "I should not think twice of that gray coat; but here, a man who is not a rebel in his heart will be sure to wear something else."

"Was he a rebel?" said Patty, softly, as if a rebel must be something dreadful even

to see.

"Yes," said her mother; "and before we go away, I shall take you to talk with him."

The white walls of the negro village now came in sight. Patty saw that the houses were quite unlike any that she had seen negroes living in before. They were two storeys high, and mamma said, when she asked her, that she thought they were whitewashed, not painted. In the failing light they could not be quite sure.

The houses were built on terraces, round the brow of the heights, "like a coronet," Mrs. Gray said; and Patty nodded her little head, as if she thought so too.

As they wound in and out among the houses, they saw the names of the streets, painted in large letters, at the corners. Patty read out, "Garrison St.," "Phillips St.," " Fremont St."

"Oh, mamma," she cried, "how Mr. Garrison would like to see his name up there! And to think they are all free! And there is the chapel, too!"

"You know he has been South since the war," said her mother; " and I think he must have seen this village, it is so near Washington. There are two thousand freedmen here."

"I don't think the houses look nice, near to,” said Patty, disappointed. "Oh, mamma, just look in there; the children are sitting round a pan of hominy. They are grabbing it up, without any spoon, just like the pigs; and, mamma, the houses are so bare!"

Mamma turned the donkey's head without answering, and drove round the chapel. At the foot of the steep path, which led up to the superintendent's house, Lundy was waiting for

them.

It was late in the day, and Patty and her mother looked blue with cold.

Lundy came forward, and pulled off his сар.

"Little missy find a good fire up dere," he said, "but dere ain't much to eat; I done

carry de bags, missis, and I buyd some eggs and hominy down in de town.

right smart black man up

Dere'll be a

dere soon."

"Thank you, Lundy," said Mrs. Gray, getting out of the cart, and turning to help Patty. "I dare say we shall get along very well; but shan't I see you in the morning?

"No, missis, I'll be gone, fus' thing."

"I hope you won't go very far, Lundy," said Mrs. Gray. "I can't bear to think Miss Brittania is to lose you."

"Oh, I gib dat all up," said Lundy, with something that sounded like a sob. "Miss Brittania no better dan a picaninny; I sell de donkey and go right back. De boys mus' go, but I'll jis go ober de bridge, and carry her my wages ebery night."

Mrs. Gray pressed his hand, and turned away. She loved her old friend, in spite of all that separated them; and she was proud of Lundy. She knew he ought not to make such a sacrifice, and yet she could not advise him to go away. She thought in her heart, that God would pay him some day, full measure, "heaped up, pressed down, and running over."

Patty put her hand in her mother's, and they walked up the steep path, and into a large and airy, but empty, hall.

All the doors and windows were open. "It's colder than out doors," said Patty, shivering.

"This is a white man's house," said Mrs. Gray; "but you see it is quite as dreary as the houses in the village. It would be different if there were a lady here, I think. Our room is up stairs; I hope we shall find it warmer."

It was warmer; but that was all that could be said for it. Lundy had built a big fire in the great fireplace. He had piled up some bricks to hold the great logs, for there were no andirons, and there was a great pile of wood on the bare floor, to feed the fire with. There were one or two broken panes of glass, but somebody had pasted paper over them. There were two husk mattresses on the floor, and on those a pile of blankets and sheets, that Lundy had borrowed of a neighbor, and left for Mrs. Gray to spread. They were coarse, but quite clean. There was a board table in

the middle of the room, and several chairs standing about. On the table were a dozen eggs, a few bits of fried chicken laid on white paper, some cold boiled hominy in a tin pan, and a loaf of rye bread.

On the hearth, on a pile of bricks, just in front of the fore-stick, a little black tea-kettle sang merrily. There was a bright new tin pan on the fire, full of boiling water, with an iron spoon in it. Lundy had thought that perhaps Mrs. Gray would like to boil some eggs.

"Oh, mamma!" said Patty, clapping her hands; are we going to stay here all night? It's just as good as a picnic! "

"Yes," said Mrs. Gray; "the superintendent is in Washington to-night, but he said we might stay here if I could take care of myself. His rooms are locked up; but you see Lundy has taken care of me."

Then Mrs. Gray showed her little daughter what it was to be a good traveller. She went first to the door and turned the wooden button, which was its only fastening.

"Can't somebody break that in the night?" said Patty, soberly.