"Ah, Rosamond," began a voice well known, "had you come a moment sooner, a drowsy lord you would have found."

"Beshrew the idea of a lord of sixteen!" cried Rosamond, pettishly.

"Where is the sense in leaving home and sailing away to another land to study what could be very well learned right here, and the better to look into troubles that may never come?"

"I must fit myself in the very best way for the future," manfully answered the lad.

"And prithee, are there not fields to till, crops to watch, and hands to guide, that one must fly across the ocean in search of usefulness?"

"My father is able to look after his fields, his crops, and his servants, cousin Rosamond, and it was a fine course of study that fitted him to be the man he is. And thankful I am that he hath both means and the willingness wherewith to fit me to follow in his footsteps."

"We have had many pleasant times together," sighed Rosamond.

"As boy and girl, yes. I go now to prepare myself to take a man's place in affairs, would'st hinder me?"

"Yes!" snapped Rosamond. "I would indeed!"

She was a petted beauty, this Rosamond, and being seventeen was both much admired and sought after.

"Yes," she repeated, "I would hinder you from such folly! You have been well taught already. Here is our own William and Mary College, no mean place of learning; why is it not fully good enough, pray tell me?"

"I seek helps of all kinds, my cousin, and would study midst the treasures and libraries of the Old World, nor can any one hinder me."

"Then will I turn my thoughts another way," said Rosamond, "and that will not please your mother."

There was no reply.

"What say you to that?" asked the haughty beauty.

"It is my desire to think chiefly at present of the study on which my heart is set," was the sensible reply; "but," Lionel added, more hotly, "I want to follow the course I have marked out, and I will!"

There was ever something about the warm air of the South that made her sons impetuous in speech, yet they were also chivalrous, gentle to the weak, and kind and courteous in speech.

So when Rosamond began to cry and to say, "What need to be so harsh with a poor little cousin who meant no harm?" Lionel exclaimed:

"Forgive me, Rosamond, I meant not to be unkind. But I feel within me the need of preparation such as is before me. Yet I would not be too hasty in speech. I pray you, forgive me, dear."

"Ah, how sweet is the spirit of my Fairy Prince," smiled Sally. "Who would not love so gentle a voice, and one who so quickly says 'forgive'?"

Then she looked around with the scared expression always quick to come over her face whenever she dared to say or to think, "My Fairy Prince."

Nearly every evening after this, Sally would hover near the arbor, but so warm was the weather that the young people would go in the family coach for long drives, while Sir Percival and Lady Gabrielle would start away in the shay, taking their slower way through sweet, gra.s.sy roads, along by the quiet dingle and flowery dell.

Then off would roam Sally, perhaps loitering around fair Ingleside, or returning to her beloved pine woods and leafy oak-tree.

One evening, as Sally was returning through Lover's Lane, she saw Mammy Leezer coming toward her, and very glad she was to meet the good-looking old colored woman. Mammy came on with her usual slow step, and said, as Sally drew near:

"Hot, isn't it, honey?"

"Yes, it is hot," Sally made answer, "but this is a pretty evening for those who can go riding."

Mammy tossed her independent old head.

"Neber you fret 'bout dose as hev kerridges to tote 'em," she said.

"You's jus' as good as some folkses dat rides all de time."

"Oh, but it is nice to be born to fine things," said Sally, with a little laugh.

"How'd you know what you's borned to?" asked Mammy, with another toss of her head. "You doan't b'long to dat Slipside Row no more'n nothin'. I've heah tell o' your pappy. If he had done live' you'd be gettin' learnin'

all dis time, shor! You oughten be gettin' it now."

Mammy had sunk down on a low stump and took on an air of importance that covered her like unto a garment. And as no cla.s.s of people enjoy telling a story or airing their ideas more than do the colored race, Mammy settled herself as if for a long speech, and began, feeling all the time much pleased at Sally's attention:

"Now, ob course, I ain't for sayin' one word 'gainst my marster or mistis, not by no means. Why, bress yo' young soul, I'se been part ob de fambly most eber since Mars' Perc'val and Mistis Gabrelle wor married. And I nussed Miss 'Cretia right f'om de day she wor borned, and as for Mars' Lion, he's my babby shor!

"Law de deah sakes! dat lil scamp neber would let me out'n he sight till he wor four yeah ole, and to dis berry day dat chile come to his ole Mammy with his troubles."

Sally listened enchanted. Here were bits of family history such as she had never for a moment expected to hear. She said, timidly:

"I do not see how a fine young gentleman can have troubles."

"Well, he do," said Mammy. "Now, fo' instance,--there's dat Miss Ros'mond Earlscourt, she's got heaps ob money, and her face looks berry well, too. And dese yere old famblies o' Virginny, they likes to keep to demselves and marry and gib in marriage to one anudder 'cause there's heaps o' fambly pride to 'em. Dat's all right, ob course, but let me tell you, honey, I can see plain as day dat my Mars' Lion he ain't goin' fo' to bind himse'f to no cousin or ennybody else till he wants to. Dat Ros'mond, she a yeah ol'er dan Mars' Lion, and boys mostly falls in love with girls ol'er than they are, when they's in bibs, _some_ ob them does.

"And my mistis,"--Mammy whispered and rolled her eyes,--"she want dat chile to make right up to Ros'mond, but he jus' won't do it! And he tell his ole Mammy dat he goin' to hab his own way 'bout some tings if de skies fall."

Then Mammy dropped her dreadful story-telling air as she said, in her own sweet voice:

"Now, honey, I doan't expeck you'll eber tell a word o' what I'se been sayin'! I mostly doan't tell fambly affairs, but you looked so sweet with yo' reddy-gold hair, and dem holes in yo' cheeks, I was led on to speak ob mine fo' once. Yo' won't be tellin, will you, missy?"

"No, oh, no!" said Sally, "I wouldn't for the world!"

"Dat's my kitten!" said Mammy, so caressingly that Sally smiled for very joy. And, indeed, it appeared to her so pleasant a thing that the old nurse of her Fairy Prince should have trusted her with a bit of family matters that it would have been hard to give away a word that Mammy had said.

"Now I'll tote 'long," said Mammy, making lunges toward getting up from the stump, "and I ain't meant to say a word I hadn't orter, but my ole heart's berry sore 'cause my young Mars' Lion, he goin' fur away come Septem'er, and no knowin' when I'll eber see my babby 'gain."

Mammy should not have told family matters, and Sally should not have listened, but both were innocent as to some things, and no harm was done.

Sally kept on to the pine grove, going over in her mind what she had heard. But she thought most of what Mammy had asked about herself, and what she had said about her father. She repeated in her own way of speaking:

"How do you know what you were born to? You don't belong to Slipside Row. I've heard of your father. If he had lived you would be getting learning all this time. You ought to be getting it now."

Then Sally listened, hoping her good Fairy would have something to say, and at once it began to speak.

"You feel in your heart that what Mammy said may be true. It may be _because_ your father was a gentleman and your mother a lady that you begin to want to study and to learn as they would have wished you to.

Look around. Do not give up. Be determined to see a way to lift yourself. You can find the way!"

Sally stood still. "I will help myself," she said, stoutly. "I will! I will!"

"Oh! oh! oh!" she cried, softly, "that is the same thing my Fairy Prince said, 'I will'!"