BEEN TO ME "AS APPLES OF GOLD IN
PICTURES OF SILVER."






Roberta Marsden, or Lil Missus, as the negroes called her, for the opening
of my story dates back several years before the Civil War began, lived on
a country place in Kentucky. She was a beautiful child, and despite a few
foibles that all flesh is heir to, such a really lovable one that she was
fairly worshiped by mother, aunt and uncle, and every one of the negroes,
from old Caleb, the testy and ancient coachman, to the veriest pickaninny,
who thought it a great feat to catch hold with grimy fingers to the
fluttering strings of the little girl's white apron when she came among
them at Christmas and on other occasions to distribute sweets and more
substantial tokens.

It was a great wonder that the child was not utterly spoiled. But it
seemed that her nature reflected the love lavished on her as a mirror the
face that looks into it.

Aunt Betsy declared she did not have one selfish bone in her whole body.

I think the reason of that was, there were so many about her looking to
her for comfort in some way, that when little more than a baby in years
she fell into the habit of thinking of and caring for others almost as a
woman would.