wished to talk with her about the estate; and at last she walked with me
out of the house and into the road.

After a few minutes of silence I asked her about my father: what were
his spirits; his way of life; where did he live; did she live with him?
Then Zoe told me some of the things I had learned from Mr. Brooks. And
as her mother had died when Zoe was born she had been taken by Mrs.
Spurgeon to raise. She said that her father, my father, had lived a part
of the time at the inn, and a part of the time at his house on the farm;
that during the last two years of his life she had seen more of him than
formerly, though he was often in St. Louis, and even New Orleans. And
she added with hesitation that he drank a good deal at the last, and was
often depressed and silent. "Was he kind to you?" I asked. Zoe said that
he was never anything but kindness, and that he provided her with
comforts and with schooling whenever any one came along to teach the
children of the community. I had already seen around the house a copy of
the _Spectator_, and Pope's poems. Zoe told me that she had read these
books, part of them over and over, and that she had had a teacher the
year before who had helped her to understand them. I began to delimn Zoe
as a girl of intelligence. Of vital spirits she had an abundance.... The
night was very warm and of wonderful stillness, no breeze. We heard the
cry of what Zoe called "varmints" in the woods. A night bird was
singing. She told me it was the whippoorwill. I never had heard a more
thrillingly melancholy note. Once Zoe stepped upon a stick in the road.
Thinking it was a snake she gave a cry and leaped to one side. But I
calmed her and we kept our way.... I had never seen the stars to the
same advantage, not even on the ocean. They were spread above us in
infinite numbers, and of remarkable brilliancy. And there was the
prairie, stretching as far as the eye could penetrate into the haze of
the horizon, except where a distant forest rimmed the edge of the