Deb brushed the last oak leaf from the skirt of her green gown, tossed
her yellow hair out of her brown eyes, and scrambled up the steep side
of the dell to a level of lawn and flowers. Her handmaiden followed her,
and they paused for breath beneath the white blooms of a mighty catalpa.
A hundred yards away, across an expanse of dewy turf, rose the great
house, bathed in sunlight. Box, syringa, and honeysuckle environed it,
and a row of poplars made a background of living green. It had tall
white pillars, and shallow steps leading down to a gravelled drive. The
drive was over-arched by elm and locust, and between the trees was
planted purple lilac. All of fresh and fair and tender met in the late
April weather, in the bright and song-filled morning, in the dew and in
the flowers. Upon the steps, between the white pillars, were gathered
several muslined figures, flowery bright to match the morning. In the
drive below, two horsemen, booted and spurred, clad in many-caped
riding-coats and attended by a negro groom, were in the act of lifting
tall hats to the ladies of the house they were quitting.

"Hi!" panted Miranda. "Marse Ludwell Cary, Marse Fairfax Cary, an' dat
brack niggah Eli! Whar dey gwine dis mawnin'?"

"To the Court House--to the election," answered Deb. "I know all about
it, for I asked Uncle Edward. If the Federalists win, the crops will be
good, and General Washington and my father and my grandfather will lie
quiet in their graves. We are Federalists. If the Republicans win, the
country will go to the devil."

"Hi, dat so?" said Miranda. "Le's run open de big gate. Dey two gent'men
moughty free wid dey money."

Racing over the jewelled turf, mistress and maid arrived at the big gate