of her last reading.

But beneath all this childish play of fancy, one grave, sorrowful
thought lay heavy upon Edith's tender heart. It was the thought of poor
old Luckenough "deserted at its utmost need" to the ravages of the foe.
Then came the question if it were not possible, in case of the house
being attacked, to save it--even for her to save it. While these things
were brewing in Edith's mind, she rode slowly and more slowly, until at
length her pony stopped. Then she noticed for the first time the heavy,
downcast looks of her attendants.

"What is the matter?" she asked.

"Oh! Miss Edith, don't ask me, honey--don't! Ain't we-dem got to go back
to de house and stay dar by our two selves arter we see you safe?" said
Jenny, crying.

"No! what? you two alone!" exclaimed Edith, looking from one to the
other.

"Yes, Miss Edith, 'deed we has, chile--but you needn't look so 'stonish
and 'mazed. You can't help of it, chile. An' if de British do come dar
and burn de house and heave we-dem into de fire jes' out of wanton,
it'll only be two poor, ole, unvaluable niggers burned up. Ole marse
know dat well enough--dat's de reason he resks we."

"But for what purpose have you to return?" asked Edith, wondering.

"Oh! to feed de cattle and de poultry? and take care o' de things dat's
lef behine," sobbed Jenny, now completely broken down by her terrors. "I